Ode To The Greenpoint Post Office

Recently the Mister decided to purchase yours truly a new compact disc player. This was a decision he rued because:

• as soon as he brought it home I put it to good use (if you do not want someone to listen to Guns n Roses, do NOT buy her a new compact disc player).
• it entailed a trip to our local Post Office.

Before Mister Heather endeavored to do the previous he swung by my job to see if he could bring me lunch afterward. I said he could and I placed my order. BIG MISTAKE. I waited. And waited. I started to get light-headed. I was cursing the Mister under my breath. One hour later he showed up: he has just gotten done at the Post Office. The usual litany of complaints followed a cold lunch:

1. It is understaffed.
2. The employees are churlish.
3. There were disgruntled customers shouting in various languages.
4. And so on and so forth…

I myself have witnessed all the previous— and more. In my estimation every third visit to the Post Office results in me bearing witness someone going into a tirade. Once in a blue moon they are even in English. One time I  heard a gentleman “explain” to an Postal employee (who would not let him pick up his wife’s parcel) that the reason he and his wife do not have the same last name was because (and I quote):

It is the 21st Century and my wife is not my property.

Another time I watched an employee explain to a rather tall and comely blonde that she could not receive mail under the moniker “Mistress so and so”. All mail sent to her highness had to be under he legal name. I won’t lie you: I was very amused by this dialogue. It made the twenty minute wait to pick up a package totally worth it.

These are but a few of my thoughts about the Greenpoint Post Office. On a lark I decided to see what the folks on Yelp have to say about this local institution. It isn’t pretty. Chris K. writes:

If I hadn’t been to other Brooklyn post offices, I’d say this one is merely trying to replicate Soviet Bloc-era Polish bureaucracy.

Use the automatic postage machines whenever possible.  They are more charming, exude more panache, and are infinitely more helpful than the staff.  Why? Mail something here, and you will probably encounter a woman best regarded as the retarded sister of Judge Milian from the People’s Court.  She’s a know it all, which means she probably received just slightly better than “pass” on her civil service exam, but I’ll tell you what, she doesn’t know the most important thing of all —

She sucks. Bad.

Newsflash: you don’t work on commission, so don’t try to make me pay more than I have to for postage.  And by what fit of logic are you telling me that my book can’t go in a flat rate envelope?

She’s easy to spot.  The one who probably kills kittens in her spare time. That one.  Fire her.

Mr. Mets was more succinct and to the point:

Just look at the picture – it’s self explanatory

You can read (and contribute to) the rage by clicking here. In closing, I am the only person who is noticing that their delivery people are not bothering to leave notices for parcels anymore? Thoughts— anyone?

Miss Heather