So, yesterday, I was trying to mail a parcel to my cousin in Wales, UK and I am totally surprised that the P.O. is a well-kept secret here. After an hour of driving around frothing at the bit, I still had the parcel in my grips because I went to three grocery stores with ‘Post Offices’ and they all were somewhat aghast when I asked to send a small parcel to Wales. Can’t do that. We only sell stamps. They even took a step back, called for the Manager. I was feeling all criminal like I was shipping crack to the UK and OMG, where is my passport?
So, after stirring it up at three grocery store ‘Postal Offices’, Zuma and I drove to the MAIN P.O. and it’s all government-secure with threatening signs and stuff. Ignoring the ‘We will fine you and you’ll go to jail for 530 years if you’re in here’ signs, I parked the car. I just wanna mail this brochure, man. Zuma thinks this gangstah style method of mailing a pamphlet overseas is cool. She even stood up and turned around in the back of the car when I was getting all edgy about why did everyone tell me I could mail this parcel HERE? So I jumped out of the car and started sniffing around for an entrance.
It says on the signs this is The Freaking Post Office. Everyone told us that this is the Post Office. Then I parked and the doors were all locked and required a password. Whaaat? I have to get a password to buy a stamp? Turned out this is the shipping center for Post Offices. Duh, Sonia. You believe everyone.
After all, who sends packages except at Christmas? And then it’s easier to send gift cards. Because, ya’ll, we’re all so wrapped up with e.mail and social media we don’t SEND postcards or parcels (well, I still do, because I’m …. um …. not quite right old-fashioned).
Anyway, I was skulking around the Post Office parking lot like a hobo-terrorist with my little package under my arm when I saw a woman who clearly is a postal employee. I approached her and inquired where to go to mail said package and then … I realized she had a fresh wad of chewing tobacco stuffed into her right cheek. This was a SERIOUS HONKIN’ CHUNK of chewing tobacco folks. Think small baseball. Okay, that’s cool, whatever. If that’s the trip you’re on, I’m fine with that. Until the brown drool started to slowly spill out down her chin as she talked and I had a rather challenging extremely difficult time focusing on what she said. In fact, I have absolutely no freaking idea what she said. I couldn’t stop looking at the drool river trickling down her chin (like, “Don’t you even FEEL that?!”). No apologies, she was into her tobacco buzz stage. Didn’t even wipe her chin. She slurpingly directed me to another (far away) part of town to a postal service. I’m not being all judgy, but, Jayzus, there’s something you don’t see every day.
I just stuck a sh** ton of stamps on the package and mailed it from the RV Park.
I guess I’ve led a sheltered life. I need to get out more.