The Last Letter
You have to figure its coming in the next few years. Perhaps it will be my ultimate claim to fame.
I went to the post office towards the end of the week just to get a few stamps. There is certainly a deflating feeling when you open the post office door and see four people standing in line in front of you. That's because you just know the line is going to move nice and s-l-o-w. Real freaking slow.
And it seems like no one really knows how to act in that line. There's no joking. Everyone stares straight ahead with their packages, wondering why there are so many people moving around and just one guy, who's moving really, really, really, really freaking slow, at the front. And he's asking one dumb question after another.
"Is there anything liquid, fragile, or explosive in your padded envelope, Ma'am?"
"Would you like any additional stamps, packaging, envelopes, or to open a PO Box?"
I used to love getting letters through the mail. In college my father used to send a note with a five dollar bill in it - he always signed the note F.U.F. (From u father). When I was homesick that freshman year a well-timed letter was awesome.
After college I moved out West for awhile and wrote letters back and forth to a couple of girls - again, standing out in front of that mailbox, wondering if a letter came - always felt like I won the lottery if there were a few kind words from Lisa or Lorraine.
The last letter ever is coming.
The guys who work in the post office must have real lives, right? Why then does it seem like they are one unkind word away from exploding into a rage of melee.
"I'd like a book of stamps and to check this letter for weight," I said.
I placed the letter on the scale and the guy looked at me as if I had tinkered with the button that sets off a nuclear explosion.
"I'll put the parcel on the scale," he said.
"Okay then!" I said with a smile. I was waiting for the question.
"Anything liquid, fragile or explosive in the envelope?"
Did he really want an answer? Should I say, yeah it's filled with freaking Anthrax that I need to mail to the cable company?
"Uh, no."
"It's a little over. Would you like it guaranteed one-day for $32.00 or special air mail for $28.00, or regular first-class for.$.60?"
"I'll stick with the sixty cents," I said. "If it really had to be there fast I could have scanned it and e-mailed it."
The man looks as if I slapped him. How dare I diminish the standing of the US Postal Service.
"Would you like any special...
I try to cut him off with a quick 'No' but he has to finish the spiel. The next guy in line audibly groans.
"Would you like any special packaging, envelopes, padding, stamps or to perhaps open a PO Box?"
I don't answer right away. I think about asking him to repeat the question, but finally shake my head in denial. I'm thinking of those standing ten deep in line now.
"Would you like your receipt?" he asks.
"No thank you."
He gives it to me anyway. I take the mile long receipt that notes the two items I purchased.
Another man enters the room, sees the line and nearly screams out.
The end is near.
I want to be the guy who mails out the very last letter ever.
"Have a nice day," the postman growls. It sounds more like a command than a wish.
"You too."
I smile back as someone dumps another bag of mail into the slot on the right.
"Have fun sorting that!"
I went to the post office towards the end of the week just to get a few stamps. There is certainly a deflating feeling when you open the post office door and see four people standing in line in front of you. That's because you just know the line is going to move nice and s-l-o-w. Real freaking slow.
And it seems like no one really knows how to act in that line. There's no joking. Everyone stares straight ahead with their packages, wondering why there are so many people moving around and just one guy, who's moving really, really, really, really freaking slow, at the front. And he's asking one dumb question after another.
"Is there anything liquid, fragile, or explosive in your padded envelope, Ma'am?"
"Would you like any additional stamps, packaging, envelopes, or to open a PO Box?"
I used to love getting letters through the mail. In college my father used to send a note with a five dollar bill in it - he always signed the note F.U.F. (From u father). When I was homesick that freshman year a well-timed letter was awesome.
After college I moved out West for awhile and wrote letters back and forth to a couple of girls - again, standing out in front of that mailbox, wondering if a letter came - always felt like I won the lottery if there were a few kind words from Lisa or Lorraine.
The last letter ever is coming.
The guys who work in the post office must have real lives, right? Why then does it seem like they are one unkind word away from exploding into a rage of melee.
"I'd like a book of stamps and to check this letter for weight," I said.
I placed the letter on the scale and the guy looked at me as if I had tinkered with the button that sets off a nuclear explosion.
"I'll put the parcel on the scale," he said.
"Okay then!" I said with a smile. I was waiting for the question.
"Anything liquid, fragile or explosive in the envelope?"
Did he really want an answer? Should I say, yeah it's filled with freaking Anthrax that I need to mail to the cable company?
"Uh, no."
"It's a little over. Would you like it guaranteed one-day for $32.00 or special air mail for $28.00, or regular first-class for.$.60?"
"I'll stick with the sixty cents," I said. "If it really had to be there fast I could have scanned it and e-mailed it."
The man looks as if I slapped him. How dare I diminish the standing of the US Postal Service.
"Would you like any special...
I try to cut him off with a quick 'No' but he has to finish the spiel. The next guy in line audibly groans.
"Would you like any special packaging, envelopes, padding, stamps or to perhaps open a PO Box?"
I don't answer right away. I think about asking him to repeat the question, but finally shake my head in denial. I'm thinking of those standing ten deep in line now.
"Would you like your receipt?" he asks.
"No thank you."
He gives it to me anyway. I take the mile long receipt that notes the two items I purchased.
Another man enters the room, sees the line and nearly screams out.
The end is near.
I want to be the guy who mails out the very last letter ever.
"Have a nice day," the postman growls. It sounds more like a command than a wish.
"You too."
I smile back as someone dumps another bag of mail into the slot on the right.
"Have fun sorting that!"
Comments
The last letter is coming... great opening line for a book, don't you thinK?