Going Postal

Christmas time is here and with it comes the post-office rush. Every year I vow not to fall victim to the frustrated line of people waiting for the postal price gouge. But alas, there I was today, one week before Christmas, standing in a line of 40+ people at 9:30 am. I had wisely left my young son in the care of his grandfather so my waiting would not be worsened by the whining of a toddler. After 35 minutes of line marching, I found myself second from the front. I had already sized up the postal workers and chosen the kindly-looking woman that I wanted to be helped by. There was just one man I wanted to avoid. He had already given a woman a tongue lashing for being unprepared. The timing seemed to be against me. It was like I was being pulled into the mouth of a dragon. He was short, red-faced, and very crabby. I looked down at my [previously used] box with green scratchy writing and a poorly removed label from the first mailing. In spite of my frantic search, there was no box tape to be found in my house, so I was at the mercy of the postal worker when it came to closing the goods.

Finally my turn came. I made eye-contact with the crabby postal man. He signaled me. Dang it! I put my over-sized, banged-up box on the counter and looked as bashful as someone who had just peed her pants. "I didn't tape it up," I told him. Big frown.
"We don't usually tape your boxes. You have to do it."
"I didn't have any box-tape," I said back.
"You should have bought some. We sell some on that back wall, though at a significantly higher price than at the store." I just stood like an idiot staring. But he continued, "I'll do it this time."
"Thank you so much! I usually do a great job taping, too much in fact, which is why I didn't have any more box-tape left." Nothing from him. Then he went on to point out that I had improperly written my return address and I would have to rewrite it and that I could have written the address in the right place if I would have taken off the old address stickers from the box. I was lectured on something about following convention when using the postal service. Apparently, he believed me to be disrespecting not only him, but the entire U.S. government. Geez! I took the verbal reproof that was offered. I hate going to the post office. He then decided to charge me $21 in shipping costs. I thought my trouble was over until it came time to pay. I was told that my credit card could not be accepted with the "See ID" on the back. I offered to show my license. No. What about if I sign it right now? When he didn't answer, I signed it and gave it back. He took it, but with disgust at my impertinence. I mistakenly told him that I remember being told the same thing last year at the post office. He glared at me and said, "So you only come to the post office once a year?"
"That's about right."
When everything was finally said and done, I apologized for my disorganization and problematic box-preparation. I told him, "I'm not usually this bad."
The only answer I got was a "Merry Christmas" that sounded more like "Screw You."

I hope I don't run into him again next Christmas when I go back to the post office with my unsigned credit card and poorly prepared, untaped box.