A Typical Government Transaction

Last night I stopped by my mailbox and swung open the little door expecting to find it stuffed to the brim. Instead, a void compartment gaped at me, totally vacant but for one small slip of paper. It was a cheap photocopy of a form typed, presumably, sixty years ago with a poorly-set typewriter, stating that the carrier had hijacked my mail and was holding it hostage at the local post office. (I’m paraphrasing, of course.) So this morning I got there right at 7:30 when they opened (to avoid the obligatory pre-work jam) and thus began a typical government transaction. I walked in to an empty post office, with no one occupying their posts at the counter despite “open” signs. I heard people rustling about in the back and saw two workers sorting mail, so after a moment I called, ‘Hello?” Followed shortly by, “Excuse me? Hello? Pardon me!” After about five minutes, one of the women who had been sorting mail, well within earshot and angled such that she had only to flick her eyes to see me, paused to stretch and then casually loped - no, moseyed - over to the desk. “Yeah?” she asked, electing not to look at me in favor of rearranging some sample packages of stamps. I produced my letter and without a word she disappeared to the massive black hole that apparently exists just beyond the foam boards behind the cash registers. Literally ten minutes later, during which time the other woman sorting mail never so much as glanced my way, she reappeared carrying a giant white US Mail carrying box. Peeking in the top, a sizeable pile of envelopes, magazines and junk mail smiled up at me. I couldn’t believe how much crap had amassed in one month’s time. The only explanation I can come up with is that I somehow found my way on to a bazillion mailing lists, because I’m just not that popular. At least she let me keep the carrying bin.