Salute to the post office.

I'd just like to take a moment today to salute the United States Postal Service. 

You think I'm joking, but nay nay! 

We have two post offices pretty close to each other in neighboring villages. The large one, which has earned my ire in the past, is farther from me that the small one. Both are often understaffed. Part of this is institutional, in that the post office, in the manner of the great American car companies and mid-size to large American cities, spent the last seventy years turning into retirement and health benefit dispensaries that happen to have sidelines (delivering mail, making cars, leaning on shovels...). I must say thought that the people at my small post office work hard. 

I think they are more understaffed than usual due to labor shortages and the Chinese Death Virus that's still sweeping the world. (And yet, we are no better swept.)

So I had three boxes to put into the mailstrom (ha!) for delivery before Christmas, and with one thing or another that had little to do with me, I could not get to the post office until yesterday. There were two guys ahead of me and one clerk. 

The guy who was already at the counter was apparently mailing uranium to Iran, because the paperwork involved with his transaction was enormous and time-consuming. As I waited, the line behind me grew. The second mail clerk had to get the mail in from the outside box, which was jammed, and he was run run running like Rudolph. Honest, I think he was breaking a sweat. Not sure what happened when he went back inside, but I don't think he was on lunch break. 

I didn't mind waiting so much. My boxes were lightweight, and it gave me some time to reflect on this and that. The worst part was when the Christmas music playing went from the Eurythmics' "Winter Wonderland" to McCartney's (ARGH!) "Wonderful Christmastime." I'd rather listen to "I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas" five times in a row so it gets jammed in my head like a sesame seed in a cavity than listen to "Wonderful Christmastime" once. We've put up with that song for forty years now; how much longer, O Lord?

At last I reached the counter, and José, the clerk, was as cordial as could be. He looked tired, but he didn't act that way. When I fumbled the "liquid, perishable, fragile, fabulous, or explosive" question and hit "Yes" on the keypad, he cheerfully started over. The shipping on the packages wasn't cheap--over $40 for the three--but they are all expected to make it to their destinations before Christmas, even the one going to California. 

So cheers to the post office for keeping their chin up and taking their Christmastime responsibilities seriously. At least José. If the packages fail to arrive as stated--and at this hour the tracking information still is not posted online--then cheers at least to José, who is getting things done.