QMusings

I hate going to the post office.

No matter what time of day I go, I always end up waiting in line for at least 20 minutes.

Even if there is only one person ahead of me.

The rule seems to be that 2 out of 3 employees must be on break at any given time.

Unfortunately, I needed stamps. I haven’t quite gotten to the point where I order them online. Yet.

I didn’t want to waste what little free time I had, so I figured that I could get them from a stamp machine at the Atlanta airport.

When I landed, I headed towards a machine near my gate. Someone had scribbled, “This machine takes your $$$” on it.

I decided to heed the warning and use the machines near the luggage carousels.

After crossing the river, going through the Dark Wood, and answering the riddle of the Cave Troll, I arrive to find that all 3 stamp machines at the luggage terminal had “Out Of Order” signs on them. I peeked in at the adjacent post office. Hmmm.

There was only one person in line. The image of a Venus Fly-Trap came to mind.

Maybe airport post offices were different. I got in line.

Buzzzzz…Snap!

There was 1 man ahead of me and 2 customers currently being helped. Amazingly, there were 2 postal workers at the 2 available counters. The “2 out of 3″ rule must not be in effect it Atlanta. Or it’s an airport thing.

Have you noticed that post offices seem to have primarily Female People Of Color at the counters? Doesn’t seem to matter where you are – Texas, California, Georgia, Kansas. The area determines the particular “color”, but it’s usually women up front.

I could go off on a very long tangent here and STILL be second in line.

The 2 FPOCs at the counters were polite, cheerful and very pleasant. The people they were helping had items that had to be weighed. Fun. Nail-In-The-Eye fun.

One guy had a stack of large white padded envelopes. The short, stout FPOC weighed and manically stamped each envelope along the seals.

stamp-stamp-stamp-stamp-stamp-stamp-stamp-stamp.

The stamping was so intense her arm was a piston. One young woman who had been sitting behind a divider actually got up and peered around it to see what the heck was going on. She and I exchanged bemused looks.

From where I stood, I could barely make out the address from all the red inked circles.

The taller FPOC was weighing what looked to be a pillow, but was in fact an overstuffed padded envelope for one of those Skycap guys. I think he was a Skycap guy. I dunno as I never use Skycap, I’m not even sure what they do. Whatever it is, I think they expect tips.

She weighed the pillow then stepped back and waited. Calmly. I wondered if she was meditating.

She then went to her computer and put on some type of label. The Skycap guy pays, she punches some keys and she meditates some more. She looks serene. She puts a hand on her hip. Perhaps this is a type of Postal Yoga. She then gives the Skycap guy his receipt and change.

The guy ahead of me finally moves forward toward the Zen Goddess. In the meantime, the veins are popping out of her coworker’s right arm as she works on eliminating all white space from a diminishing stack of envelopes.

I have been in line about 20 minutes and a flight crew is now behind me.

The Zen Goddess goes through 2 more meditations, her customer leaves and she is now ready to receive me. Oooommmm. Ommmmm.

I ask if there are any new stamps. I’ve waited. I deserve some pretty stamps.

She calmly goes through her drawer and shows me the latest designs. Aaaahh. Motorcycles. I’ll take some of those. Oh, and okay, those Amber Alert ones.

I slide my eyes to The Stamper. I’m compelled to. It’s rare to see that combination of total focus blended with utter calm. It was as if her arm wasn’t even attached to her body. I was watching someone who was In The Zone.

I pay with a credit card. I go to slide the card through the card reader, but a note says, “Hand card to cashier.”

I hand my card to the Zen Goddess who calmly swipes the card through her machine and meditates. I then notice that she is looking at the computer screen. She sees something and then she punches some buttons, stands back and meditates some more.

She looks at me and says, “The machine is slow.”

Ah. I mean, Ommm. 

All Has Been Made Clear. The Truth Has Been Revealed.

I ponder the fake Dieffenbachia on the counter.  I ponder at why a recent 2-cent postal increase has not resulted in better equipment.

She hands me my receipt to sign.

Twenty-five minutes and 60 stamps later, I’m off to Luggage Carousel 5.

Where I wait.

Stamp-stamp-stamp-stamp-stamp-stamp-stamp-stamp….

Trackback URI | Comments RSS