Dad’s workshop
A few weeks ago I went to the post office to mail some packages. The lady gave me this long spiel about the flat rate boxes and the priority rate boxes and how much this and that cost. At that point, since my stuff was already packed in boxes, it seemed pointless to unpack my stuff, throw my boxes away and then repack in their boxes just to save a two dollars and twenty-five cents.
I had some packages to mail today so I brought my stuff without boxes.
When I got to the window I said, “I’d like to try one of these boxes you’ve been trying to sell me on.”
Their reply? What box?
So I said, that flat rate box.
Then they held up a box so small I wonder what the point would be. There is nothing you would mail in that box that you couldn’t mail for a buck or so in a squishy envelope. We go around in a circle, they insisting, you have to tell us what box you want.
They finally tell me that I can mail my stuff in any packaging I want and I said: I didn’t package my stuff because you’re always telling me how great your boxes are.
These are the most anal retentive assholes in the universe. There is no way to win. I told them they were like the IRS and I would have to pay a trained professional to tell my how to fulfill my obligations. They finally handed me big old Priority Mail box and I got my stuff out.
Later today, I read about how much money the post office is losing and my cold heart felt nothing. (Sorry Kenman.)
