I received a package from Hong Kong last week, which arrived via (argh) registered air mail.

On Monday, I decided to go pick it up, so I jumped in the car with the tag and looked at the pickup location.

Of course, it wasn’t the little post office 2000 ft from my front door – that would be too easy – it was at the Greenwich Post Office – so off to Greenwich Ave I went, trolled for a parking spot, waited patiently for the crossing guard (cause, y’know, we have crossing guards for grownups here), and waited in line inside.

First let me say this – I have nothing against people who speak English as a second language.

I do, however, have an issue with the level of *English proficiency* required for any given vocation.

Landscaper – low is OK.
Postal clerk – low is NOT OK.

There is one postal desk worker I see regularly who does not speak English very well at all – in addition, this postal worker talks very fast and has very little patience with customers (!) Combine that with the horrifically low customer satisfaction of any given post office trip, and it can be a nightmare.

In fact, sometimes I am in line at the post office, and if this person is one of the two working, you can actually sense the fear in people’s faces that they are going to lose the lottery and get this person as their clerk.

Its like going to see the mail Nazi.

This morning, there was another non-native-English speaker working the desk, trying to help a VERY old man. I was next in line, and watched this conversation – it was soooo painful. They could not understand half of what each other was saying, and neither could I.

Thankfully, I got another clerk, who informed me I was at the wrong post office – I would need to go to the Greenwich Post Office on Valley Dr. – noooooO!!!!

OK, so back to the car, and I punched the address into my Nuvi.

When I got to the approximate location, there were poorly signed small business parks everywhere, and I didn’t see any sign for the post office. I cruised around FOUR of these office parks – no post office.

Finally, I took one more tour of Valley Dr and barely notice a very small sign which looked like a ‘no parking sign’, except it read ‘post office’ – how the HELL is anyone supposed to notice that??!!

When I pulled into the parking lot, I noticed another guy who had been driving around the last business park aimlessly – he hadn’t found it on the first try either!! I was thinking – this has to happen to at LEAST 10 people a day.

I got inside, waited in my second post office line of the day, and gave the clerk my slip.

Then she asked for ID.
So I gave her my ID.

Then she had me sign AND print my name on the credit card display, which predictably came out looking like a head injury victim had written it on an etch-a-sketch.

Then she gave me a new screen and told me to write my entire address on the little screen – I looked at her with an exasperated raised eyebrow and audible release of breath. I then proceeded to cram my entire address on the little screen, letters (if you could call them that) getting smaller and drooping down at the end of each line as I ran out of space.

When I was done, I very nicely asked her if she would inform the ‘powers that be’ that they really need to install better signage on the road, as myself and another customer in line had just driven around the whole neighborhood trying to find the post office.

The punchline to my awful morning was her response to this polite and simple request.

Are you ready?

Wait for it….

“YOU’RE WELCOME!” (hands me my package)

“You’re welcome“??
Are you fucking shitting me?

It was like a PARODY of a bad post office experience.

I took the quiet pause to a count of 5 my doctor recommended, and happened to notice the poster behind this woman which reminded everyone that firearms in a post office was a no-no.

Then I thought – what the fuck good does that do? If someone is coming into a post office to shoot people, they are not only committed to illegal firearms possession – they are committed to multiple homicides and ending their own life!

I don’t really think the notion that the first step in their killing spree – that bringing firearms into a post office is illegal – is really a logistical forehead-slap for them. Let’s face it, once you are committed to murder-suicide, you are really making your own rules for the rest of your short life.

If anything, this poster just serves as a reminder to employees and customers that you are in a place which has institutionalized vocational frustration and rage to such an extent that it has earned unique recognition as THE workplace nationwide where employees regularly like to freak the fuck out and kill each other before eating a bullet of their own.

I then continued my bonus count to 10, said an awkwardly sequenced ‘thank you’ to the clerk, and took solace in the facts that I had my package and would probably never have to set foot in a post office for another 3-4 months.