..:S...P...I...D...E...R...B...I...T...E...S:..

Sunday, February 19, 2006

"All i wanted was a Pepsi, and they wouldn't give it to me!"
- Suicidal Tendencies "Institutionalized"

"I gots pennies for ma thoughts..."
- 50 Cent "Patiently Waiting"


THE POST OFFICE CHRONICLES

Chapter Two:

"Was there a sign on the machine?"


actually, it wasn't a Pepsi. all i wanted was a stamp. one goddamn stamp. for the love of christ can i get a stamp?!?

true story. i have one little thing i want to mail out before work (so that i feel like i've accomplished something before i waste my day behind a register) and i have about 15 minutes to walk in, put my fifty cents in the machine, snatch the stamp it gives me, spit on the 911-commemorative flag, attach it to the envelope around my latest short-story-slash-insect-metaphor and drop it in the box! pow! how hard can that be? i'm actually thinking i've given myself about 14 minutes more than i need. wrong. i drop in my quarters, hit the button and nothing happens. a quick glance at my watch.

13 minutes...

i hit the button a couple more times. cock my head like a cat taking a shit. still nothing. try to get my 50 cents back with the coin release. nothing. i look at my watch with my nostrils flaring to see how much time i got left to still get to work on time.

12 minutes...

i look inside to divide the clerks by the number of people and i see a line of about eight old ladies waiting to mail their own short stories. well, not really. as much as i wish this was true (that there were eight grandmas waiting in line to mail their violent insect metaphors to random college literary journals) it's more likely they simply had boxes of cookies and kittens to send to their grandchildren serving in Iraq. anyway, i'm waiting in this line, inching forward like i'm doing a drunk test on the highway and i'm thinking this is one of those times when i could legitimately cut in front and say, "i'm sorry i just need my fifty cents back real quick" but i can't do it. i hate it when other people do that so i just can't bring myself to do it, even though if anyone had a good reason i do. lookin' at my watch.

10 minutes...

i'm creeping forward slower than snails fucking, trying to gauge the amount of time spent on each grandma at the counter so i can predict which clerk i'm going to get when i finally get up there. hmmm. looks like that smiling little old dude will be my clerk if each grandma keeps getting in and out in about three minutes. i watch him help each customer with the grace and efficiency of that machine that made cookies that eventually became "Edward Scissorhands." yep, three minutes each seems to be the average so far.

7 minutes...

then the grandma on the end starts shopping for a certain stamp book they can't find, holding them all up to the light like they might have Wonka's golden ticket inside and now everything's off. you know how it is when you're counting your steps and you realize ten feet away that you're not going to take first step on the stairs smooth so you have to stumble over a little half step to do it? it's like that when i realize i'm not going to move forward at the right pace to make eye contact and get called over by the efficient smiling little old clerk. so...i get the big snarling asshole instead! but it's all good! this will be easy, right?!?

me - "hey dude, that machine just took my money. can i get a stamp from you?"

(see what i'm saying! this is the easiest transaction in the history of the postal service. not since the days of the Pony Express when some cowboy handed a wooden letter to a guy on a horse has there been a request that has been this easy to deal with. i calmly wait for my stamp, smiling because of this gift i've brought to his workday...)

asshole - "the machine's broken." (awkward pause)

me (still smiling) - "yeah, i know. i just need one stamp."

asshole - "was there a sign on the machine?"

me (my smile is now gone forever) - "uhhh. no. (pause) so what are you saying?"

asshole - "there was a sign on it saying it was 'out of order' earlier."

me - "okay, but there isn't a sign on there now. (pause) i just need one stamp. can't you give me the stamp from here?"

asshole (ignoring my question, yelling back over his shoulder) - "hey Joe! was there a sign on that machine?"

4 minutes...

me (feeling the vein in my head pulsing) - "hold on. let's say Joe says 'yeah, there was a sign on it.' i mean, so what? there isn't one now. what does that have to do with this?"

asshole (confused) - "huh?"

3 minutes...

me - "i'm saying, okay the machine was broken, then the sign fell off. so what? you can see there's a fifty cent credit right there on the display. so why do you need to ask Joe?"

asshole - "because the machine is broken and it had a sign on it-"

me (through teeth) - "you see the machine from here? see that there's no sign? see that it says 'fifty cents?' just get me a stamp so i can go. please."

(i really say please because at this point i'm honestly confused and trying to understand his train of thought. i'm thinking maybe he's just not aware that it was my last fifty cents and maybe, in his mind, this one stamp combined with such a small amount of money can't be the reason i waited in line? maybe he thinks i just wanted to have a long conversation about the machine? i don't get it. i realize that there might be very few people who plan their days around their last two quarters, but on that day i was. so i'm just repeating i need a stamp to hopefully clear this up)

me - "i just need a stamp."

asshole - "you said that."

me (laughing a bit) - "sooooo, uh. can i have one?"

zero minutes...

and now we have complete insanity coming atcha in 5...4...3...2...1...

asshole - "sorry, i can't do that."

me (more veins in my head) - "why not?"

asshole - "the machine and us are separate."

me - "what???"

asshole - "the machine and this post office are separate. i can't give you a stamp."

me - "wait a minute. what do you mean 'you're separate?' you sell stamps, right?"

asshole - "yeah and-"

me - "and that machine sells stamps, right? i mean, it's not like that machine is selling fishing lures and it has nothing to do with you, right? it's the same thing. you both sell stamps. how is that separate?"

asshole (sighing and actually looking to the next person in line like i'm nuts) - "because the guy who fills the machines has a different inventory than-"

me - "whoa. wait. so, when the guy comes to fill up the machine, does he give you your stamps too? of course he does. so it's the same thing. it's not like there's different things in there or something. it's all coming from the government, right? they all have a flag on them, right? so give me one of your stamps, keep the change and i'm out the door."

T minus 2 minutes and counting...

asshole - "i can't."

me - "jesus fucking christ. then give me my fifty cents back."

asshole - "hold on."

more insanity in 5...4...3...2...1...

this prick hands me FUCKING PAPERWORK to fill out.

me (staring at the papers, then him, in complete disbelief) - "i have to fill this out for fifty cents?"

T minus 3 minutes and counting...

maximum insanity in 3...2...1...

asshole - "yes, and then they'll mail you a check."

me - "what?!? just give me my fucking money back, dude."

asshole (over his shoulder) "Joe!"

Joe shows up. Joe is a woman. welcome to crazy world! i'm sort of laughing again. the fact that Joe is a woman makes perfect sense right now. hell, i wouldn't have batted an eye if Joe was riding a unicycle and juggling skulls.

Joe - "sir, he's right, you have to fill this out to get your refund."

me - "you can't just give me a stamp."

Joe - "the machines are filled with..."

me (interrupting) - "with the same stamps you sell! seriously this is hysterical. it's not like i lost money in the pop machine and want a Pepsi from your lunchbox. i mean, you sell stamps here!"

Joe - "i'm sorry but you'll have to fill this out."

T minus 5 minutes and counting...

even with the five minute grace period you get, i am now officially late for work.

me (defeated) - "fine."

i proceed to fill out this form to get back my TWO QUARTERS. however, i can't resist adding a little something in the comment box...

clock in at the bookstore at 9:19. everyone rolls their eyes with that "late again" look like i give a flying fuck. i put my short story in my locker and there it sits until payday.

fast forward three weeks. i'm opening my mailbox, reaching inside for the good news that some magazine has finally decided that all their readers really want to do is compare their daily trials and tribulations to fiction about driving around aimlessly and spiderwebs 'n shit and yeah, sure, we'd love to publish your short story in this month's 'Redbook!' tragically, i pull out this instead. i proudly display it on the 'fridge for about a month but finally had to deposit it because, you know what, i take my checking account down to the fucking nub. sometimes fifty cents is all that stands between a comfortable life with my music and my movies and my cats...and fighting with chainsaws in Thunderdome.

::: david - 12:45 PM [+] :::
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