A visit to the post office

Granted, today was not the optimum day to visit the post office. But there I am, along with everyone else in the northern suburbs. There are at least 25 people ahead of me, and another 25 in line at the DIY machine. (I have been known to lie at the machine. When they ask "Will this label fit on your box", I always think, "Somehow, that sucker is going on the box, no matter what." So define 'fit'. But I digress. I was fortunate to be between 2 ladies who had a sense of humor. Of course, there was only one window open. And we were laughing at the lack of concern for speed. One lady had bills to mail, along with her package. We figured she would be asked if there was anything fragile, liquid or perishable in them, and then they would be subject to the slot test to see if they were too fat to go for the regular first class postage. We thought if they had provided cookies it would have gone a long way to maintaining a spirit of holiday. The other lady said she could open the box of chocolates she was mailing. That sounded like a good idea. Then she could tell the friends she had donated a box of chocolates in their name.

I had to fill out some customs forms for 2 of my packages. They were different than the last time. But I gamely scribbled out all the information while I stood in line. But, when I got to the window, I found out that I had not pressed hard enough to make the multiple copies needed. So, I had to rewrite everything, while others waited. Oops, I started one of them on the second sheet, not the first one. Not to worry. The postal worker told me he was going to throw that one out anyway. Go figure.

So, it's finally time to go, and say farewell to all my new friends. I feel like I have known them forever. The elderly lady who had been behind me, followed me out the door. "Now where in the world is my car?" she says. "I parked it right here and it's not here anymore." Now you have to understand that this lot is about the size of a postage stamp, itself. I offered to help locate it. "What color is it?" "It's the same color as this car," she says. "Are you sure it's not this car?" "I'm sure." "Okay, try your door opener and see if any of them blink." Nothing. So then I ask her, "What kind of car is it?" "It's a Buick LeSabre." "Well, this one's a Buick LeSabre. Are you sure this isn't your car?" So she tried the door. It worked. Then she says, "That darned husband of mine. He must have put the new plates on it without telling me." Then she hopped in and drove off. I'm thinking, this will no doubt be me in another 10 years.