The Post Office

It occurred to me that the Post Office is one of the great equalizers of our society.

Yesterday, after dropping LO off at the middle school, I went to the Post Office to pick up Christmas stamps for our Christmas cards. It was early, as she wanted to go in early to practice her flute. The band concert is in a couple of weeks, and she has her eyes on First Chair. One of her best friends has first chair now, and in her own words, "No offense to SK, but I'm taking that first chair."

So, I got to the Post Office at about 7:45. I was under the impression that our PO opens at 7:30. Apparently not. Apparently it doesn't even open at 8. I joined a line of about 7 folks inside the PO, and we waited, somewhat patiently, till 8:08, when the security doors and gates in front of the clerks' windows were opened.

The mix of folks in line was quite varied. There was me, quite normal of course, in fact, I find in so many situations, I'm the only normal person around. (You'd have to know me to get that joke.)

There were two people with black jackets with writing on them; one was a bearded, skinny, over-40 gentleman with a chain looping to his front pocket where I would guess his keys were. The writing on his jacket was motorcycle related. The other was a black lady about 50 or older with airbrushed writing on her jacket about a beach music group. There was a lovely lady in her 40's with very very long bleached hair, tight jeans, and boots with spiked heels and one of the most expensive pocketbooks I ever saw. The two ladies behind me were dressed in mid-priced clothes like me, LL Bean or Land's End, and we chatted as we waited.

One of them remarked how typical it was that the PO couldn't even open on time; they can't do anything right. I had to reply that we love love love our postal carrier. DH and I shopped for Christmas cards last week. We bought a box of cards for friends, and special cards for his parents and his brothers. We looked at the Pastor cards but did not see any for our pastors that seemed just right, and I said we would just send them cards from the box. Then , I saw a card for the Best Postal Carrier ever, and had to buy it. DH remarked that it was a shame that I wouldn't buy a special card for our pastors, but would for the mailman! I shared with the ladies how our mm slides a doggy biscuit into our mail slot every day. If we are not home when he comes, our mail gets scattered all over the LR floor as our dog roots and snuffles through the mail searching for her cookie. Last Friday, the mm must have been out of biscuits as he put through a homemade one, a saltine cracker with a little peanut butter on it, made into a little sandwich. Little Dog loved it and ate it up right away.

One of the ladies said that was quite a contrast to her mm, who smokes and leaves butts on her front lawn every day. No one in her family smokes, and she is quite frustrated with his thoughtlessness.

So we made conversation in this line, and all of us had to wait, regardless of normalcy or extreme dress, income level, or affinity for the PO. It seems to be one of the last great truly democratic institutions. You can pay extra to get your passport expedited, you can call your congressman to get approval for your 501(c)(3) expedited, you can hire an attorney to get your speeding ticket overturned. But at the PO, you have no choice. You just stand in line like everyone else. Somehow I find it comforting.