Thursday, December 08, 2005
Dear Jackass, Volume 6
Dear Every Employee at Every Post Office I've Ever Been To:
Okay, I get it. It sucks to work at the post office. That's clearly the message you're trying to telegraph to every customer who patronizes your workplace. I'm unclear what's so bad about the job--from what I see, it's a lot like being a cashier in a grocery store. Not an incredibly fun job, but not backbreaking work, either--just a lot of "That'll be $54.68. Next customer in line, please." Maybe what makes you bitter is the stuff I can't see: Bad benefits? Long hours? Mandatory employee beatings before and after each shift? I don't know. But maybe it would be more constructive for you to voice your complaints to The Man instead of taking your frustration out on the line of average citizens just trying to send a birthday present to Aunt Pearl in Minnesota.
For one thing, it's not physically possible for you to move one bit slower as you go about doing your job. No one expects you to be huffing and puffing, sweating and exhausted from processing packages at light speed, but may I suggest you step it up just a tad, asshole? I can literally hear the scraping of your shoes as you drag your feet crossing the small area between the package window and your cash register. You move like mommy's calling you to come to the living room for a spanking. Now you appear to be straightening pens and idly shuffling through the stamps in the stamp drawer, emitting a long sigh for dramatic effect while I shift my heavy package on one hip and my infant on the other. The eyes of 15 people stare intently at you from the long line as you yawn and stretch and ask the employee next to you about her weekend. Finally, with another heavy sigh, you roll your sad Bassett Hound eyes toward an empty spot on the wall and mumble, to no one in particular, "Next," in the same tone of voice you might use if you were dictating your suicide note. Then, when I finally do have your attention, you act as if I showed up at your mother's funeral to ask a favor of you, instead of coming to your place of business to ask you to do something you're being paid to do.
Why are you so miserable? I'm the one who should be unhappy--I've never made it through a post office line in less than 25 minutes, no matter how many or few people are in the line. And I do take into account the busy times, and try to plan it so I get there when it's slow. But you're one step ahead of me, Angry, Passive-Aggressive Postal Worker, because while you stock the cash registers with a whopping two or three cashiers during the busy times, you reduce the number of cashiers down to one for the slow times. So despite my moment of joy as I park in a nearly empty post office parking lot, congratulating my genius and my sense of timing in managing to get there at the slowest possible time so I can get in an out of the line before my next birthday, I am quickly reduced to tears when I see that there's only one clinically depressed cashier at work inside, who seems to be deliberately taking 20 minutes to process each of the 4 people in line ahead of me, each of whom she treats like a retarded kid brother that Mommy forced her to take along with her to the movies with her friends.
What are the requirements for getting a job at the post office? Do you have to flunk out of Toll Booth school? Do you have to have failed the psychological profile at a minimum of four other jobs? Do you have to check Yes in the box on the application where it asks, "Do you hate all humans equally, living or deceased?"
If anyone reading this is a post office employee, incensed by my depiction of your brethren, and prepared to leave an indignant comment letting me know that you are a postal worker who loves his job and has great customer service skills, then my apologies to you. I will retract my statements if you will tell me which post office you work in, so that I may go there to mail my packages from now on, where I can presumably be waited on by someone who doesn't appear to be off her antidepressants. And yes, I'm in Texas and you may be in Ohio or New Mexico, but no matter; it's worth the drive. With each subsequent visit to the post office, I lose a bit of my will to live. At this rate, I'll have the personality of a postal worker by this time next year.