As posted yesterday, I need to get a new job.
On my way to work yesterday, I went to Office Depot and bought packing tape and CD mailers. Then I stopped and got an Asiago bagel and cream cheese. So I was in before 9. I don’t know what more they want from me. Well, maybe to be in at 8:00 but I’m not sure that that has ever happened.
I carefully edited the memos so they didn’t all open with “Dear Ray”, folded them in thirds and placed them in a mailer with a CD and sealed the envelope. I didn’t reprint the address labels because that seemed like a lot of effort and I had already done it once. Writing the addresses is fine, I had proven I could print them if I wanted to.
I went out to lunch with my friend, Danni and then went to the post office with my pile of packages. I went to my extra-double-secret Mail ‘n Mart post office because no one knows it’s there so there are never any lines. I drove the extra couple of miles, carried in my nine CD packages plus two of my own. As I approached the counter, I saw a sign reading “Cash or checks only for post office”. That means cash or checks only. No credit cards. I look at the woman at the counter, “Do you have an ATM machine?” Yes, moron, you are standing right next to it. But an ATM machine does me no good because I have to use my company credit card and I don’t know how to get cash from that card.
Drive back to downtown Beaverton (real name of Portland suburb) to the post office. Get lost. Oh wait, first I drove around some neighborhoods because I really like those houses. I love looking at houses.
Where was I? I got lost looking for the post office, not severely lost but a bit. I found it, parked and went inside to face a really long line, really long. This post office is like the freaking United Nations. Beaverton is a very diverse community, a lot of immigrants; not that there’s anything wrong with that unless you are waiting in a very long line in an overheated post office and people need translators or to be professional charades players to take care of their postal business. This universal rule applies in post offices as well, saying anything loudly will not help a person understand if they don’t speak that particular language.
While waiting, I noticed an old woman in a cranberry-colored velour sweat suit and a pink hat. I don’t know why I noticed this except that she was very um, vibrant. She marched away from the counter and made a call on her cell phone so everyone could listen to her talk to “someone in India but I want to talk to someone in America.” She has never made a $20 payment on her card and she is not paying $107 because it is not her error. She hates to think of what they will say to the credit bureau. In reality, I felt bad for her. She is probably in her 70s and obviously never lived with debt and was a little freaked out. Still, do us all a favor and take it outside next time you are taking to “Kevin” in Calcutta.
I inched forward in the line. I removed my jacket because I was sweating. I noticed the passport window close and move into the neighboring cubicle where a post office person could have been working mailing things for ALL the postal customers who were standing in the long line. There are five stations, windows, whatever they are called and only two had people taking mail from the public and sending it on its way.
A postal man worker, joined the fray and opened another window! He called “next” and I was Next! Sure I was sweating and holding a parka, purse and 11 packages but I was NEXT. I put everything on the counter but didn’t want to drop my coat on the floor because, well it’s an old hot post office floor, with filth and muck on it. We ascertained that the nine CD packages all weighed the same and he busily counted out sheets of stamps and placed them on the pile and set that aside. I paid with my company credit card. He then weighed my personal parcels and printed out the postage for those. I asked, “why do you have those stamps for the other ones instead of printing the postage?” He answered quite amiably, “there are so many of them, it is easier to use stamps then print out nine different postage sticker thingies”. It’s not a direct quote but you know what I mean. I smiled and nodded.
I finished paying for my stuff and he said, “You can take these over there and put the stamps on them and just bring them back to me.”
Oh, okay, super.
Yep. I waited in the superduper long line, paid for all the postage and then because he didn’t feel like printing the labels which I thought was kind of his job, I got to spend more time putting three stamps each on the CD packages while holding my coat and purse and leaning up against the counter to ensure that nothing touched the floor.
Not only do I have to do my stupid job, yesterday I got to do the postal guy’s job. And it all took over an hour so with lunch, I didn’t get back till almost 2:30.
Seriously, I have got to get another job.