CRUSHED BY THE POST OFFICE
I went to mail a small package of fragile goods at the local Post Office and was reminded of why our government is so dysfunctional. I don't like going to post offices nowadays because they feature large portraits of President Bush and try to sell you flag stamps. When you ask for the fruit stamps, they roll their eyes at you like you're unpatriotic or something, but I digress.
The package contained fragile antique toys I was sending to an auction house, so I bundled them up like babies in winter, boxed them in Styrofoam peanuts, sealed the box with an entire roll of shipping tape, and handed it to the clerk.
The clerk asked me if the package contained anthrax, napalm, or uranium. While I was thinking it over, she switched the subject to how I wanted it sent. I said I didn't care, as long as the box wasn't crushed. This raised her suspicions.
After scanning down a long list of services, the clerk looked up at me and said, "We don't offer that service."
I said look, just stamp it, "Do Not Crush." They had no "Do Not Crush" stamps.
Why not? You have a "Do Not Bend" stamp, I said. The clerk looked confused.
Look, this is a "Do Not Bend" order in every dimension, I clarified. I explained that I often get packages from the Post Office that are crushed: not merely bent, but crushed flat as a pancake. This was not a VCR or some piece of electronic junk that could be replaced.
The clerk said, "Look, we do not "Do Not Crush." What we do do is offer insurance. I said great, I have to pay you not to crush my box.
Well, actually, no. I couldn't pay them NOT to drop-kick my box into the truck -- and NOT to put a refrigerator on top of it, because that brand of tough love was a given. But I could buy insurance that would reimburse me for the damage, after the fact.
I said look, this is not just about the money. These are rare antiques. They cannot be replaced. When they're gone, they're gone. And wouldn't that be a shame? The clerk nodded and asked me if I wanted a book of flag stamps.
I said, look, I'm willing to pay a premium for you not to crush my box. The clerk said, don't worry -- you'll pay a premium alright, and charged me $26.35 for the insurance. I said that was an outrage. She said hey, they're your antiques.
Just when I started seeing red, I noticed a sea of yellow "Support Our Troops" ribbons behind the clerk on either side of the smiling Bush portrait. I don't mindlessly support our troops. For six years our volunteer troops have become a de facto wing of the Republican party, I thought to myself, and I don't support what they're doing in Iraq. Sixty percent of Americans think our troops are fighting the wrong war and I want them either home safe, or redeployed elsewhere where they can make us safer. Then, I'll support them.
Besides, government employees on official business are supposed to be neutral when it comes to partisan issues, aren't they? Support the Troops has blurred into Support the War.
"Flag stamps?" the clerk asked as I snapped to. No, I want the frickin' fruit, I reminded her. I was starting to wish I had listed "anthrax-dusted uranium" in the contents. I'm pretty sure they wouldn't have crushed that.
I went to mail a small package of fragile goods at the local Post Office and was reminded of why our government is so dysfunctional. I don't like going to post offices nowadays because they feature large portraits of President Bush and try to sell you flag stamps. When you ask for the fruit stamps, they roll their eyes at you like you're unpatriotic or something, but I digress.
The package contained fragile antique toys I was sending to an auction house, so I bundled them up like babies in winter, boxed them in Styrofoam peanuts, sealed the box with an entire roll of shipping tape, and handed it to the clerk.
The clerk asked me if the package contained anthrax, napalm, or uranium. While I was thinking it over, she switched the subject to how I wanted it sent. I said I didn't care, as long as the box wasn't crushed. This raised her suspicions.
After scanning down a long list of services, the clerk looked up at me and said, "We don't offer that service."
I said look, just stamp it, "Do Not Crush." They had no "Do Not Crush" stamps.
Why not? You have a "Do Not Bend" stamp, I said. The clerk looked confused.
Look, this is a "Do Not Bend" order in every dimension, I clarified. I explained that I often get packages from the Post Office that are crushed: not merely bent, but crushed flat as a pancake. This was not a VCR or some piece of electronic junk that could be replaced.
The clerk said, "Look, we do not "Do Not Crush." What we do do is offer insurance. I said great, I have to pay you not to crush my box.
Well, actually, no. I couldn't pay them NOT to drop-kick my box into the truck -- and NOT to put a refrigerator on top of it, because that brand of tough love was a given. But I could buy insurance that would reimburse me for the damage, after the fact.
I said look, this is not just about the money. These are rare antiques. They cannot be replaced. When they're gone, they're gone. And wouldn't that be a shame? The clerk nodded and asked me if I wanted a book of flag stamps.
I said, look, I'm willing to pay a premium for you not to crush my box. The clerk said, don't worry -- you'll pay a premium alright, and charged me $26.35 for the insurance. I said that was an outrage. She said hey, they're your antiques.
Just when I started seeing red, I noticed a sea of yellow "Support Our Troops" ribbons behind the clerk on either side of the smiling Bush portrait. I don't mindlessly support our troops. For six years our volunteer troops have become a de facto wing of the Republican party, I thought to myself, and I don't support what they're doing in Iraq. Sixty percent of Americans think our troops are fighting the wrong war and I want them either home safe, or redeployed elsewhere where they can make us safer. Then, I'll support them.
Besides, government employees on official business are supposed to be neutral when it comes to partisan issues, aren't they? Support the Troops has blurred into Support the War.
"Flag stamps?" the clerk asked as I snapped to. No, I want the frickin' fruit, I reminded her. I was starting to wish I had listed "anthrax-dusted uranium" in the contents. I'm pretty sure they wouldn't have crushed that.
posted by R. Reynolds at 8:12 AM
3 Comments:
next time just hit the UPS store in mt. kisco. besides, that chappaqua post office is a dangerous place! wasn't there some bankrobber discovered there?
I think the advice of anonymous is right-on and you should heed his/her words. What with the surveillance of phone/internet communications by this administration, you are probably right up there with Osama (and easier to find) on the enemies of the GOP list. Stay out of post offices!
It's a good thing you didn't ask for the book of "Love" stamps. That would have sent her right over the edge. --USCE
I think both anonymouses (anonymii?) make good points. You've never heard of a disgruntled UPS worker, have you?
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