Column
Feeling lazy today, so I'll merely post this week's Stillwater Gazette column. My dad was a letter carrier for decades, so hopefully he won't come back to haunt me for this piece.
Benjamin Franklin became the first Postmaster General under the Continental Congress in 1775. Several invitations to the “Congratulations Ben” party were lost in the mail, which sets the stage for myriad things that frustrate me about the monopoly—excuse me, business—that is the United States Postal Service.
For starters, it’s long been my contention that the post office should provide a “One minute or less” window at each location, with the understanding that anyone exceeding the time limit will be summarily executed in front of other patrons as an example.
The worst offenders are elderly women for whom the daily foray to the post office constitutes their sole source of social interaction. They don their Sunday best, wrap their hair tightly in plastic despite no signs of wind or precipitation, and monopolize a full ten minutes of the clerk’s time, oblivious to impatiently tapping feet behind them. They seek not just postage, but a stamp that will adequately express their social conscience. Breast cancer awareness? I have a dream? By the end of the transaction Gertrude will have purchased a stamp letting Xcel Energy know she not only pays her bills on time, but that she cares, dammit.
And the postal clerk will know that her kids never, ever visit.
The post office could make things easier on patrons by providing all necessary forms up front. Complete one form and another is requested, necessitating surrendering one’s place in line and then wrestling with the decision to reclaim the top slot or go back to square one. This is no laughing matter; the former option can set the stage for Anarchy depending on the number of old ladies buying stamps that day. The endless red tape can cause a once-confident patron to prostrate themselves before the clerk and simply plead with their dying breath that the item be sent somewhere, somehow. “Just tell those who follow me that I tried to do it by the book, but you crushed my spirit,” they gasp.
“Certainly,” deadpans the clerk, “simply fill out this form.”
At some point the post office began offering patrons products and services they neither want nor need. “Any shipping supplies today? Stamps? Priority mail? Undercoating?” The one option the post office doesn’t offer is “intact” since they know this is the one thing they can’t quite pull off.
For instance, my mother called me shortly after Mother’s Day and awkwardly thanked me for the box of porcelain shards I sent. I explained that it left my house a Precious Moments figurine. Well, at least next year’s gift is a no-brainer: a bottle of Elmer’s Glue, though I’ve no clue how to get it there.
Despite growing dissatisfaction with the post office, people never give up on them and patronize the competition. Oh, wait. That’s the dirty little secret of the U.S. Postal Service: they enjoy a monopoly on first class mail. I often wonder if postal employees who have gone berserk have done so from sudden realization of the awesome power they wield. Misplace an electric bill and someone could freeze to death. A shredded Christmas card could reduce a patron’s share of their parents’ estate. This type of responsibility could easily send an otherwise rational person over the edge.
Or maybe they just go a little nutty because those blue polyester uniforms chafe.
Regardless, you’d think that a fair trade off for their monopoly status would be having all service windows fully-staffed at lunchtime and around holidays. In fact, the only day of the year the post office is fully-staffed is on tax day. You know, the day they collect millions of envelopes containing money for the very entity that grants them their monopoly status.
Coincidence, I’m sure.
Every so often it’s reported that a letter, postmarked ages ago, finally reached its destination decades or even centuries late. These will remain great human interest stories until one surfaces addressed to Lee Harvey Oswald reading “Lee, for the time being put the kibosh on the whole Dealey Plaza thing. We were behind you ‘til JFK sent us the most lovely fruit basket. From Russia, with love.”
Oops. Should’ve sent it Priority.
Still, despite the complaints, the post office remains a tremendous value. Where else will 32…wait, 37…hang on, soon to be 39 cents…almost ensure that there’s an approximately 50/50 chance of something possibly arriving within a forty mile radius of its intended destination by some arbitrary date, give or take a century. And if not, just imagine the delight of your great, great, great grandchildren when they receive, as if from a time machine, a smashed bottle of glue postmarked 200 years previous; tangible evidence that while Postmaster Generals may come and go and non-postal technology improves by leaps and bounds, no legacy will outlast that of good, old-fashioned mediocrity.
Benjamin Franklin became the first Postmaster General under the Continental Congress in 1775. Several invitations to the “Congratulations Ben” party were lost in the mail, which sets the stage for myriad things that frustrate me about the monopoly—excuse me, business—that is the United States Postal Service.For starters, it’s long been my contention that the post office should provide a “One minute or less” window at each location, with the understanding that anyone exceeding the time limit will be summarily executed in front of other patrons as an example.
The worst offenders are elderly women for whom the daily foray to the post office constitutes their sole source of social interaction. They don their Sunday best, wrap their hair tightly in plastic despite no signs of wind or precipitation, and monopolize a full ten minutes of the clerk’s time, oblivious to impatiently tapping feet behind them. They seek not just postage, but a stamp that will adequately express their social conscience. Breast cancer awareness? I have a dream? By the end of the transaction Gertrude will have purchased a stamp letting Xcel Energy know she not only pays her bills on time, but that she cares, dammit.And the postal clerk will know that her kids never, ever visit.
The post office could make things easier on patrons by providing all necessary forms up front. Complete one form and another is requested, necessitating surrendering one’s place in line and then wrestling with the decision to reclaim the top slot or go back to square one. This is no laughing matter; the former option can set the stage for Anarchy depending on the number of old ladies buying stamps that day. The endless red tape can cause a once-confident patron to prostrate themselves before the clerk and simply plead with their dying breath that the item be sent somewhere, somehow. “Just tell those who follow me that I tried to do it by the book, but you crushed my spirit,” they gasp.
“Certainly,” deadpans the clerk, “simply fill out this form.”
At some point the post office began offering patrons products and services they neither want nor need. “Any shipping supplies today? Stamps? Priority mail? Undercoating?” The one option the post office doesn’t offer is “intact” since they know this is the one thing they can’t quite pull off.
For instance, my mother called me shortly after Mother’s Day and awkwardly thanked me for the box of porcelain shards I sent. I explained that it left my house a Precious Moments figurine. Well, at least next year’s gift is a no-brainer: a bottle of Elmer’s Glue, though I’ve no clue how to get it there.
Despite growing dissatisfaction with the post office, people never give up on them and patronize the competition. Oh, wait. That’s the dirty little secret of the U.S. Postal Service: they enjoy a monopoly on first class mail. I often wonder if postal employees who have gone berserk have done so from sudden realization of the awesome power they wield. Misplace an electric bill and someone could freeze to death. A shredded Christmas card could reduce a patron’s share of their parents’ estate. This type of responsibility could easily send an otherwise rational person over the edge.
Or maybe they just go a little nutty because those blue polyester uniforms chafe.
Regardless, you’d think that a fair trade off for their monopoly status would be having all service windows fully-staffed at lunchtime and around holidays. In fact, the only day of the year the post office is fully-staffed is on tax day. You know, the day they collect millions of envelopes containing money for the very entity that grants them their monopoly status.
Coincidence, I’m sure.
Every so often it’s reported that a letter, postmarked ages ago, finally reached its destination decades or even centuries late. These will remain great human interest stories until one surfaces addressed to Lee Harvey Oswald reading “Lee, for the time being put the kibosh on the whole Dealey Plaza thing. We were behind you ‘til JFK sent us the most lovely fruit basket. From Russia, with love.”
Oops. Should’ve sent it Priority.
Still, despite the complaints, the post office remains a tremendous value. Where else will 32…wait, 37…hang on, soon to be 39 cents…almost ensure that there’s an approximately 50/50 chance of something possibly arriving within a forty mile radius of its intended destination by some arbitrary date, give or take a century. And if not, just imagine the delight of your great, great, great grandchildren when they receive, as if from a time machine, a smashed bottle of glue postmarked 200 years previous; tangible evidence that while Postmaster Generals may come and go and non-postal technology improves by leaps and bounds, no legacy will outlast that of good, old-fashioned mediocrity.
posted by Admin Worm at 7:18 AM
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