Postal Pals

How can a mundane trip to the post office turn into an all out meet and greet? I am contemplating this as I currently snack on some Toy Story Cheez-its and Chips Ahoy! Candy Blast cookies– yes, the stark reality of a secretary’s life is one of glamour, philosophy, and Cheez – lots of Cheez. (Don’t be jealous.)
Back to the postal visit…I am handed an envelope by my boss and instructed to rush to the post office and make sure it gets over-nighted. (Crunch, Crunch…hey, I just ate Buzz – sorry, it’s the ADHD or whatever you call us overly thinking, creative types.) So, I dutifully head out on my errand. Arriving at the post office, I exit my car, blah, blah…fast forward to standing in line. So, I am standing in line, being anxiously observant of my turn to step to the desk for service. The line was growing behind me, and I was preceded by three fellow anxiety-ridden patrons. A voice blurts from behind, “You girls must be sisters.” What? Call me totally ignorant (heard it before), but what is your first impression when you hear those words? Who is she even talking to – is she addressing someone she has made eye contact with or just lettin’ it surface like canned biscuits fryin’ in grease (try it – just watch!)? I, along with everyone ahead of me, turn around to see this woman in knee shorts (hang on, this plays later into the story) looking and pointing out me and a lady two individuals ahead of me. Time for “first of alls”…FIRST OF ALL, we look nothing alike; SECOND OF ALL, we had nothing, seemingly, in common. We exchange glances and then begin searching for what could’ve provoked such an observation. Then came the reveal…”You both have the same wallet!” OOOHHHH! How silly of me!!! How could I have failed to notice this?! (Sarcasm duly invoked.)
Ok, dear people, I’m not really sure how carrying the same wallet could possibly parlay into a sisterhood, but somehow, this dear lady saw it without reserve. My “sister” graciously noted, “Oh! I was wondering – I thought we might’ve been dressed alike.” I was less gracious with my wonderment, “I was just standing here thinking, 'Poor soul, bless her if God gave these looks to two people!'” We all laughed and then the discourse ensured as to how “pretty” our wallets were, whether we carry one all the time, purse it sometime, or whatever, etc.
The friendly babble continued until awkwardly interjected with another random remark from our new “postal pal”, “I wear these knee pants all the time. You know, ‘cause it’s so hot where I work. That building I work in, the so-in-so building over there. I’ve worn shorts all winter!” Can we all say, RANDOM? What in the heck? Ok, having a mind that usually works about like a nat in a banana plant, I can usually deal with “random”. However, I guess my gears just didn’t shift fast enough on this one. But we all acknowledged her comment and gave our own sypathetic, but baffled head nods.
John, one of the friendly – and I do mean VERY FRIENDLY – postal workers behind the counter started spitting out funny remarks to a couple of “friends”. After a remark or two, our "postal pal" (oh yes, she did) threw her two cents into THEIR conversation, and oh my, the exchange that did take place. After an extended banter between the parties, I heard my name, “Next”. I rushed to the counter and explained my quest. Of course, there was a little paper work to be done, consequently putting me to the side while “postal pal” got called to the desk. John and Pal went at it, I didn’t realize how fun buying stamps could be, but the discussion was very entertaining! I think that by the end, John was going to pick "Pal" up in his limo and a steak supper was planned. Of course, all this was in fun, and I wish I could have remembered all the small talk so I could pass it on to you for the effect, but as “Lily” as I am, you know half of it went over my head, and I would have had to ask for far too many repeated phrases and explanations.
"Pal" finally left, exchanging her farewell with us all, and I moved over with my finished paper work. Now my turn to banter with John. Of course, I tried to hang, and did well for a minute or two, but it got to be too much work and I needed to be able to check this task off my list for the day. John saw my rush, and after we discussed why I was unable to get cable and internet, etc. in my area, and why I wouldn’t really want to go hand deliver the package I was attempting to overnight to Florida because of the gators, swamp snakes, and other critters (all his observations – thanks, John, for keeping me from that dangerous mission), he bid me good day and I was off!

OK – how did all this turn-of-events seem to happen with such the ease and conductivity of switching on a fan on a hot Southern summer day? Just that – Southern day! I guess that’s one of the things that I hate and love the most about this place called the South. As much has been joked, written, and sung about as “Carter had oats” (yeah, that one too), but it’s true. I do see the double edge to the sword: some days, I love being able to walk into a place and see at least 10 people, who, whether they know you or not, will say “hey”, smile, or wish you a good day; and some days (mostly my “make-up free” or errand days), it can be quite bothersome. But it really isn’t all that bad! I have been a few places where you look at people and, if they look your way at all, they scowl at you like they just sucked down a lemon soaked in alum – just to see one smile would’ve meant the world. So thank you, "Postal Pal" for introducing me to my long-lost wallet sister and John and the rest of the post office workers and patrons on Thomas Street!