Postal express stress

A couple of weeks ago one of my classmates, now fondly known as a "Bulldog Sister," sent me an email telling me to expect some snail mail from her. When I had expressed interest in reading her father's diary, written in 1935 as he hitched-hiked his way across the country, she alerted me to be watching for it in the mail.

Less than 24 hours later, the large white envelope containing the diary she had typed from her father's handwritten version had traveled more than 1,500 miles from her home in Palm Desert to my mailbox on Great Northern Road. Once more, I was amazed with the speed that even snail mail can move from place to place. I still, however, haven't figured out why a letter sent from Sandpoint to Boise, which is less than 500 miles away, can take up to five days to arrive at its destination.

Of course, anyone who knows me very well or who's read my first book Pocket Girdles, knows I've had a lifelong obsession with mail. Used to steal it----daily----from the neighbors' 12 mailboxes on the corner of Boyer and Woodland Drive. Got caught. I was 5 at the time, and after the postal authorities left, my mother told me I'd never get a job. She's the same mother who told me 31 years ago that my "summer romance" with Bill would never last.

Anyway, that tale of my criminal past should alert readers that many items relating to mail continue to get me in trouble. In fact, I almost went postal the other day at our local post office. It was Monday. I had some photos to send to my editor at the Appaloosa Journal. I stuck them in a brown envelope, filled out the address and headed for town.

Once there, I walked in and took my place in line behind four or five other customers. During the wait, several other people entered the building. The line began to extend out the first door, then the second. We did not move forward. That gave me plenty of time to talk with a friend behind me about Sandpoint traffic and how it gets backed up once in a while----sorta like the postal line.

I also had plenty of time to notice that I knew three people in the growing queue. Better mark this on the calendar, I thought. Used ta be you knew everyone at the post office. "Used ta be" doesn't happen very often anymore in Sandpoint.

Well, the line finally started moving forward. I had to end my conversation with the lady behind me and go to the counter. That's when the fun began. As the line behind me continued to grow, the clerk started spewing THE MENU.

"Anything fragile in this envelope?"

"Nope."

"Need this sent overnight express?" he continued to sputter from his well-memorized script.

"Nope. I just want to mail it."

"Need insurance on this?"

"Nope. Just whatever stamp it needs."

"Need confirmation that it has arrived . . . "

The line continued to extend behind me. I looked back as people were smiling at my impatience with the clerk.

"NOPE. I just want it mailed. That's all."

" Need any stamps . . . blah, blah, blah, blah, blah?"

"Just mail it!" I barked.

Once again, he insisted that if he didn't ask me all those questions, someone was gonna get mad at him.

I wanted to tell him that since he'd asked me all those questions when all I wanted to do was mail my damn letter and get out of there, that I was already mad at him.

But, I remembered my manners and my past indiscretions with the Federal Postal authority. So, I took my receipt, turned around, said good bye to the three people I knew among the dozen or more patiently waiting for their turn to answer all those menu questions and walked out the door.

On my way home, I wondered what moron came up with this stupid idea to turn clerks into robots and if this new postal efficiency really saves any time.