26 of 365: Observations of a Post Office Worker

Yesterday, I shared my nephew’s one and only blog. Being too lazy to write my own blog today, I’m going to re-blog his mother’s one and only ever blog. (Seems to be a trend in their family!) She may do more. It’s hard to say. I wish she would though. She’s hilarious. Her ‘tis:

Written: November 17, 2013


“Yes please, who’s next?” Seriously, I must say that shit at least 3000 times a day, multiply that by 25 years – kill me now!

Anyway, a customer meanders over, the line is out the door but what the hell just shuffle away there, no rush when you’re hitting 90 and I’m sure that he will eventually make it to the counter. “Hurry the fuck up,” I mentally articulate.

Yawn, yawn. Finally I look up to see two peepers glaring, two peepers that have an uncanny resemblance to stained-glass windows! I’ve seen some physical oddities during my time on the counter but this one takes the cake. Bulging eye balls, red, cracked lines. I swear I could make out a picture of a saint. I wonder if they hurt. He really didn’t look too thrilled. “Three stamps please dear.”

There’s another customer who’s a regular whose breath could strip paint! He’s large and toxic. I’m not sure what kind of childhood he had but something is definitely rotten and rotting on the inside. Every time I serve him I reel back in horror as he parts those lips and I know what is coming at me. I really don’t get paid enough for this shit.

Oh, and the customer whose teeth are like tombstones. He smiles and it reminds me of my mortality.

How about the one who staggers in drunk at 9am to withdraw one dollar from his key card.

Or the Mary who used to be Mike and grabs at the stamps with big man hands, not to mention what she does to the Postpak display.

Just another day at the post office.


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