I arrived early and as I'd hoped, there were only a few people in front of me in the line. There was one young lady working behind the counter. Her nametag said "Veronica." She looked like a new employee. When I say new, I mean she didn't have those distinctive frown lines that well-seasoned postal employees all seem to have during the holiday season. Veronica was smiling and helpful, not at all dour and unpleasant. I settled into the line and waited my turn.
A few moments later I stepped up, placed my package on the counter, and told her I was sending it to Germany. Veronica paused for a moment, as if I had just been speaking German and then apologetically said "Oh, uh, let me weigh this first." After a few moments, "Oh its six pounds," she said and then added "its over the limit." What does that mean?
If I was shipping free weights, or an unabridged dictionary, that, I might believe could be over the limit. But two bottles of Aunt Jemima plain pancake syrup and three bottles of chili powder? I was about to protest, when suddenly from under the counter Veronica flipped a small pile of paperwork. "Please fill these out" she said happily. Fine, I thought. I needed to finish soon and get to work so I started writing.
2 Bottles Pancake Syrup
3 Bottles Chili Powder
I'd gotten through the section of the customs document where you actually list what you are sending, I was just about to lie about how much I thought everything was worth, when I shifted in my spot at the counter and suddenly realized that where there had been one person in the line behind me, now there were twenty. Twenty? Twenty!
My face suddenly went hot. Somehow, they'd all snuck in, like silent ninjas while I was grappling with my box of expat goods and lying on my customs form! In the horrific silence of the post office, I could feel their eyeballs burning a hole into the back of my head. My mind made up all sorts of unpleasant commentary that was silently being hurled at me from behind. You un-prepared bitch! How dare you fill out yer damn forms at the counter!
It turns out, this time of year, the Post Office has a computer system slow-down because of all the increased usage. So while I finished filling out my paperwork, my now creepily happy postal worker waited patiently, ostensibly for the solution to my over the limit issue to show up on her screen. WOMAN BEATEN TO DEATH WITH HOLIDAY GIFTS, I imagined tomorrow's headline would read.
Its an unspoken rule, and Emily Post would back me up I think, that one doesn't say to postal employees "Hurry up." I imagine the result would be similar to poking a sleeping bear or throwing rocks at an angry beehive.... I mean, there is the term "postal" after all. Why was this taking so long? Fuuuuck.
I'm lucky in one respect, when it comes to embarrassment, I have conveniently caramel-colored skin, so if I do start to turn red, I just start looking more like a spray-on Dorito-colored tan as opposed to my normal color. Maybe I'll fidget with my phone...oh shit.... I casually looked around and finally found it. There it was, the "Please Do Not Use Cell Phones" sign above my head. Sigh.
After a few more tense moments, Veronica finally said "It'll be $59.00." I'd already pulled out my credit card. It could have cost three times that much. I would have paid it. I no longer cared what over the limit meant. She ran my card through and handed me a slip of paper that was too large to be a receipt. "Oh, you have to fill this out too." I could hear packages being shifted from arm to arm. That's how long people had been waiting in the line behind me. Long enough for the hard edge of a Christmas gift to wear an uncomfortable groove in the sender's arm. The slip of paper turned out to be the packing slip where I had to write the to and from addresses.
I hurriedly wrote and double-checked the packing slip, signed the credit card slip, turned to Veronica and asked "Are we done?" "Yup, you're all done." she said.
As I was gathering up my things, I heard Veronica ask "If its undeliverable, do you want us to return it or abandon it?" "Abandon," I said. I imagined my poor package lying in a ditch next to the Munich airport. "Yes, abandon," I said again, this time with more resolve.
And with that, I walked quickly out of the lobby.
Its only been a few days since the Post Office debacle. I realize now of course that none of that was my fault. I'm hoping to get an email in the next few days that reads something like "Your package arrived safely. We had pancakes for dinner!" or "I thought you said you were sending pancake syrup! The children are disappointed, Elisa!"
My fear, of course, is that they call in a week or so and tell me that it never arrived. And then I'll be forced to go back to the post office and fill out another set of forms because my package is over the limit. So this story is a preemptive strike to let them know what I've gone through (and what I would go through) in order to get them pancake syrup and chili powder.
This time though, I'll have them go through the trouble of returning it if its undeliverable. Abandon schmandon.
