Once, in the dark ages, I had a job (no kidding). I worked for an unknown periodical that no one subscribed to. One of my menial responsibilities was to take the postal meter machine to the 7th Street USPS to be recharged. The postal workers hated all meter machines because it meant that had to get off their butt and do something other than say "next window". There was one particularly evil postal worker (pre-customer service days at the USPS), Clarence, who I swear, never missed a day of work. He was always there. And he was scary. He was (as I guess still is if someone hasn't taken him out) a big, big, big black man with really long, very greasy hair. He also had really long, yellow fingernails and really bad teeth. His pinkie fingernail was so long it curled under (like spiral pasta). I used to stand in line and wonder, "Just how much does this guy make ... coke is expensive ... maybe he has his own drug dog that he brings to work ... I hope he washes his hands after he goes to the bathroom ..." I had a lot of time to ponder while standing in line. You couldn't miss a meter machine and the one I had to carry weighed about 50lbs. If you carried one of those babies in a post office today they would call out the bomb squad.
Clarence, despite any nasal damage, could smell fear, he was sadistic, and he knew (and he knew I knew) that the company check I was about to give him was probably going to bounce. He also knew that the company had not given me the check until 1:45 ... and Clarence has made a nice little sign saying that he would not recharge meter machines after 2PM. It didn't matter what time you got into the PO. If you got to the counter after 2, you were SOL! (PS: the movie Men in Black 2 confirmed all my fears about the PO. Forget Brad Pitt, I'll take Tommy Lee Jones in postal shorts and knee socks any day!)
So now, I avoid the Post Office whenever possible.
However, a few weeks ago, feeling unusually confident and because I had some bills I wanted to sneak out and I needed a Coke from Sonic, I decided the brave the Benbrook Post Office. The best thing about the Benbrook PO is that it is right next door to the Benbrook Grill (great chicken salad sandwiches, burgers and fries). So, I drove up, parked right in front, didn't have to wait in line ... This is where it gets pathetic. Classic vehicles, such as mine, don't make the little beeping noises when you leave your keys in the ignition. I had my phone, change for 2 cent stamps, my purse but, as I would discover, no keys.
First, I tried forcefully pulling the door open -- the door the neighbor hit that comes open when you go around a corner -- no go. I tried prying open the little wing windows. I walked down to the dollar store and bought a nail file (it works in movies). Finally, I made the frantic call to Ross (hoping my battery would last) to come and rescue his pathetic wife, dressed in overalls with one button missing, sitting in the back of a old pick-up. Actually, I laid down so people would feel sorry for me.
Lesson learned -- never go to the post office and if you do, be sure and have a least enough money to get a piece of pie at the Benbrook Grill.
