rant

Why, precisely why, is the Post Office so maddening? I went Saturday -- yes, I know -- prepared, I thought, for long lines and short tempers. I had an envelope of material overdue to the library -- yes, I know -- and the clothespin people nestled in their foam core in a pre-addressed mailing envelope. I needed an envelope for the library package and to know the weight/postage for the book exchange.
I started a postal collage on the ToC of the book in hopes that each person who gets it might stick down one of the cancelled stamps and/or other stickies from the package as they receive it. So I wanted stamps for the clothespin people package. Stamps. The primary commodity of the Post Office. You would think I had asked the clerk to recite the list of gases that comprise the atmosphere of Jupiter.
It's two-thirty-six, she said.
Yes, I'd like stamps.
Wha... you wanna book?
A book? I thought. They have a book of stamps that adds up to $2.36?
Clearly my hesitation exacerbated the confusion I had sown by this extraordinary request. So the clerk turned to the one other clerk who was working on midday on a Saturday and said: "She dozzun wan the [mumbled string of initials that stand for the register-tape thingy that if I had been in my right mind I would have accepted]. She wans stamps."
The other clerk seemed equally flummoxed: Stamps?
Now the line -- which wrapped almost completely around the perimeter of the airless room -- was getting restive. And I'm thinking of how, in May, the Post Office "lost" a package I mailed to Scotland because the PO doesn't recognize Scotland as an independent location. Anything mailed to Scotland should, I learned, include not UK, for United Kingdom, but rather GB, for Great Britain. Go figure. But do they tell you this when they accept the package? Oh please, would there be any sport in that? So a month went by and then Scots Heather (the recipient) emailed to let me know that the package -- shipped via the somewhat costly Priority Mail so it would arrive expeditiously and could be traced in the event it went astray -- had not arrived. And I went to the Post Office where they gave me a phone number to call. Apparently the PO doesn't handle tracking things that were mailed via the PO at the PO. So I called and gave them the customs number from the receipt and they said -- "According to our records this was mailed yesterday and sent to Turkey." What?! Apparently they recycle customs numbers. (This conversation is when I learned the PO doesn't know Scotland is a country.) They'll put a trace on it. That will take up to 21 business days. Four weeks later -- it's now the middle of July -- I called again. "Didn't you get the claim form?" "Claim form?" "We sent you a claim form on July 1st. The package was lost." So they sent me another claim form and I started looking for the fabrics I had used to make the original collage so I can make another one and send it to Heather in Scotland, GREAT BRITAIN, and some time goes by before I can get to it. Meanwhile, Heather spends 3 weeks in Canada and I go to Vermont for the weekend. When I got back I had an email from her saying that the original package had been delivered. In pristine condition. No extra stamping or franking nor any suggestion of anything out of ordinary in its handling. Now that is what I call Priority service.
All this flashes through my mind while I'm baffling the staff and irritating the other patrons with an absurd request for stamps, so I snatch back the clothespin people, pay for the library package, and go home to my Mother. Who has lots and lots of stamps. Really. She collected stamps for a while and has quite an assortment. She's started using them and so I thought I could raid her stash. And I could, and did, and as of this afternoon the clothespin people are finally on their way to Ohio. Or to Turkey. Or maybe Great Britain (but not the United Kingdom). It's anyone's guess.