'Going Postal'

When I arrived at my local post office this morning, there was quite a long line. I was in a hurry and was dreading the long wait to mail my package. There were at least a dozen people in line in front of me. After about ten minutes, I had moved near the front of the line. There were only three people ahead of me now. They included

• A short Asian woman with two kids tugging at her pant-legs and a third napping in a stroller. She was there to mail a birthday present to her niece.
  
• A young blonde woman in a long, fitted cashmere coat and lambskin gloves who was there to purchase stamps for her wedding invitations.
  
• And a frazzled old woman in a velvet running suit and Velcro sneakers hoping to buy sheets of stamps for her grandson.
  

None of them would be a match for the woman working the postal desk this day.

Betty had a bad hair weave and a gold tooth. A blue USPS cardigan hung over her gaunt shoulders. She was curt, mean and efficient. With a line stretching out the door, she was hell bent on keeping that line moving.

“Next in line!”

The short Asian women with kids approached the counter in hopes of mailing her niece’s birthday gift. She shows Betty a 16” commemorative Anastasia princess doll. It’s in its original packaging, unwrapped and in no way ready to be mailed.

“Can you help me mail this?”

Betty glances at the line now stretching into the next ZIP code.

“No.”

“It’s for my niece. Can you put this in a box and mail it for me?”

“No.”

“How do I send this?”

“You can’t mail it like that and I ain’t not Mailboxes, etc. Please step aside so I can help the next person.” Betty pushes the woman to the side with her arm and waves to the next person in line.

“Next!”

The Asian woman persists. “How can I box this and send it?”

Betty gives her a look that only a disgruntled postal employee can give. “There are boxes over on that rack. I recommend you find the right size and package it up yourself before I get ugly with you. Please step aside.”

The young blonde woman steps up to the counter and asks for a sheet of flower stamps for her wedding invitations. Betty presents the two sheets of stamps requested. The blonde woman takes several moments to examine the stamps. Betty stares her down, licking her chops.

“Do you have anything more spring-like?” Betty pulls out two more sheets of stamps and slaps them on the counter.

“Look at these you just tell me when you’ve made up your pretty little mind. Now please step aside. Next!”

The blonde woman looks up in dismay and is quickly bumped aside by the older woman in front of me in line. I can only smirk. I’m in a rush and Betty is making quick work of these morons. This is making my day.

The older woman faces the counter and asks for three sheets of stamps. Betty grabs them from the drawer and tosses them on the counter.

The woman looks at the stamps and tries to flatten them on the counter with her hands.

“Ma’am, can I have fresh sheets that aren’t wrinkled?”

Betty reaches into the drawer, grabs three more sheets of stamps and throws them on the counter.

“Ma’am, can you please not wrinkle the sheets of stamps? They’re for my grandson and they can’t be folded.”

“There’s nothing wrong with those. That will be $22.20.”

Continuing to flatten the sheets on the counter, the older woman hands Betty the money and says, “You know you don’t have to be so rude about it.”

“What?!” Betty says.

“You’re really being mean to everyone here, and I’m telling you I don’t like it.” Oh, no she did not… She did not just talk to Betty that way.

Betty rears back. “Sometimes it’s the people that come in here that do it.” (She has a legitimate point). Betty continues, “And I’ve been here since five in the morning so don’t start with me.”

Unfazed, the woman responds, “Well now I know not to come back to this post office again.”

“Lady, we all make choices in life.”

The yelling escalates and the insults begin to fly. Amid the flurry of expletives the woman exclaims, “Can I just have my change?”

Betty slaps the change on the counter. The woman looks at the change it’s clearly not enough. She glances quickly at Betty, avoids eye contact and turns to leave.

“Have a blessed day and may God bless you!” the woman sarcastically calls out as she walks away from the counter.

“Yeah, you bless this,” Betty mutters to herself. “Next in line!”

It’s finally my turn. I step toward the counter and place my package in front of Betty.

She looks at the box to make sure it is sealed and properly addressed. It’s like your teacher examining your homework in front of the entire class.

“How would you like to send this?”

It passed the test. Phew.

“Um, it just needs to be there by Friday,” my voices crackles out.

Betty flips the package onto the scale, slaps a sticker on it and throws it onto a conveyer belt behind her. The box teeters on the edge of the belt, spins and falls hard onto the floor with a crunch.

My voice quivers. “Um, a sheet of flag stamps please.”

Betty slaps a wadded sheet of stamps on the counter. I pay for the stamps, step to my left and leave.

Despite the long line still reaching out the door, I’m in and out in less than fifteen minutes.

Thank you, Betty. God Bless you and keep up the good work.