I Think I Might Like the Post Office Again

Today I braved my nearby post office again, despite the fact that two other trips left me ready to blow it up. With my camera phone. Cause apparently that is what people are plotting to do. Blow things up with camera phones. Oh no wait, I’m sorry, they are not planning to blow all things up, just federal buildings. Right then.

So I had to mail three packages and I refused to let the stupid federal government and its ridiculous rules keep me from going to the nearest post office. So I hid my phone in the bushes and made my way into the terrorist-free zone of the United States Postal Service.

As I was walking in some poor woman was standing by the security checkpoint holding her purse in one hand and a stamped envelope in the other. She was looking at the Security Idiot and then to the big picture of a cell phone with an X through it. She was baffled.

“I know, it’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”
She turns to me, her mind still trying to make sense of what she was being told, “I can’t bring-”
“I know. Cause terrorists are now hijacking post offices with camera phones.”
The Security Idiot recognizes me from my previous rants in the security line, “It’s NOT because this is a post office, it’s because this is a Federal Building.”
“That makes no sense whatsoever. Do you realize that?”
“It’s a Federal Building.”
“What does that have to do with a camera phone? People blowing up federal buildings with camera phones now?”
Security Idiot #2 comes over, “Yes. Now would you please run your purse through the x-ray.”
“Whatever.”
I grab my purse as it gets spit out of the x-ray machine. I’m still mumbling under my breath and exercising that fun Freedom of Speech right when Security Idiot #2 comes over, demanding to see in my purse.
“What are tampons not allowed in Federal Buildings either?”
“You have something electronic in there.”
I pull out my Palm Pilot/bomb and show it to him.
“It’s a Palm Pilot. You know the Federal Government could probably use one of these, it’s got a budgeting feature on it.”
He waves me away, off to wrestle a phone away from some other poor person who just wants to mail a belated birthday card to their Uncle Lou.

I get in line and wait my turn. Suddenly there is talking behind me. A man is talking about getting a PO Box. A woman is trying desperately to avoid this conversation. I can smell the alcohol coming off this guy. I turn around, as it’s a long line and this guy sounds kinda entertaining to me.

“I’m getting a PO Box cause I am going to be writing some letters and people need to be able to respond to them.”
“Really, whoya writing to?”
“Everyone. All the people who are famous and powerful. I’m writing to Bin Laden.”
“You have his address doya?”
“Of course, I have them all.”
“Of course.”
“Don’t worry about being in this line. You are safe as long as I’m here.”
“Good, good.”
“I was a bodyguard once, for big stars, huge stars, but they couldn’t afford me, $1000 a minute, you can’t afford that, right?”
“Nope.”
“Want to trade glasses?”
“Uh, no.”
“I’m legally blind.”
“Uh huh.”

At this point a small Asian woman, she couldn’t have been more than 4 feet tall, creates a ruckus over by the security people. Her crazy was more interesting than my drunk guy’s crazy, so I tuned him out for a second. The little woman was running (well scooting really, cause her legs were so short she couldn’t really run that fast) away from the security checkpoint, towards the line I was in. The Security Idiots, being the great security that they are, yelled at her to come back. She made a scooting U-turn and went back to them, dropped off her bag, made another U-turn and started off again towards the line. The Security Idiots called her again, bringing her back to the x-ray machine. When she returned the second time she did a full lap around the machine and took off again. The Security Idiots just threw up there hands and let her go. Cause crazy women running through the building = A Okay, but camera phones = Homicidal Terrorist.

Right then. Back to drunk guy, who was off and running on some sort of drug commentary that lead to how my hair looked nice. I thanked him for the compliment as I climbed over the rope to grab an envelope. On my way back over the rope he said, “Damn, you must be a track star. Hurdles right?”
“Yes, I’m quite the athlete. Did you see how much air I got over that rope?”
“100 yard hurdles or 50 yard?”
“Both. I was awesome. I did 150 yards, I was that good.”
“I did sprints, I was a great sprinter, I’m not gonna lie. I’m 57.”
“Really.”
“But that’s old if you die at 50, right?”
“Exactly.”
“Cause that one guy, he died at 50, you know the one, he was real famous. Who am I talking about?”
“Any other clues besides the fact that he’s dead?”
“He was Robin Hood. Now you know. Now you have to know.”
“I’m pretty sure that was before my time.”
“I’m 57.”
“Awesome.”
“And not dead.”
“Even better.”

Unfortunately I was at the front of the line now and had to leave my 57 year-old friend of Bin Laden. When I got up to the counter the cashier motioned me close.

“I saw them rummaging through your bag, and I saw you givin’ him a piece of your mind. That was great.”
“Stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, can’t bring camera phones in here.”
“Girl, don’t even get me started on them idiots.”


I didn’t know you could fall in love with a post office, but today I did.