Friday, August 13, 2004

I thought I respected Robert; I guess I do not.

It so arose that I needed to mail a package via Registered Mail today (Registered mail is a signature confirmation service offered by the US Post Office). It does not concern you what the nature of my package was.

I had boxed the item securely in corrugate and taped it closed. I had also filled out all relevant Registered Mail paperwork. When my turn at the PO came, I wheeled to the counter and handed the parcel to Robert, a generally sensible and genial clerk. He, knowing his way around the regulations, immediately pointed out that non-porous clear tape is not allowed on Registered Mail packages (one must use paper tape so that tamper-evident postmarks can be stamped about the perimeter of the thing). I could see the reason in this and asked him for a length of said paper tape, which clerk Darryl had supplied me with on occasions past. He squarely refused to supply me with the tape, which I could clearly see sitting on a shelf behind him. He even went so far as to summon the postmaster, an obese woman with horribly splayed tuberous breasts, to confirm his assertion that the post office does not supply this sort of tape to its customers, "no matter what [I had] experienced in the past."

Darryl, whose counter was open, called me over and handed me a length of the contested tape. Robert, who could not show a regular customer this simple act of humanity, marched back and forth like an indignant child whose balls had been bitten off. He then pussied off into the recesses of the building to re-summon the postmaster, who came out and reprimanded Darryl. There was not a good humor about any of this; these dismantled crotches were genuinely indignant over the issue of 18" of tape.

Long story short, the package went out, and from now on I will post my parcels between 12 and 1, when I know Robert to be out on the loading dock. Screw you, Robert.