A day in jail, no, the post office

Having several errands to attend to in the afternoon, I took the certified mail to the post office in order to receive a date-stamped receipt and mail the rest of the mail. When I came to the post office, the parking was almost completely taken, but there was a spot near the doors, so I took it. Opening the outer doors to the post office, I walked into the business office for the post office to encounter a line of around eight people, myself included, all waiting for the two postal employees to complete their work with the two people with whom they were providing service. As I stood in line, I watched the postal workers attend to the customers with all of the speed and agility of a cheetah (a dying cheetah, mind you), and all of us in line wondered if we would ever be served.

Heads down, sitting in their chairs behind the counter, the two working postal workers, slowly studied the parcels in front of them and punched buttons, and applied tape and printed stickers and requested funds and attended to credit cards and checks and printed receipts for the customers. Nothing seemed too terribly complicated, but sufficient to take the time of the dedicated postal employees.

Meanwhile, I am sure that one thought traveling through the minds of the line-dwellers was the possibility of other postal employees attending to us. Alas, no one was in sight. Had there been an altercation in the back of the post office? Had someone gone postal?

What an odd turn of phrase. "Going postal" bears the image of a postal worker going beserk and shooting people randomly and with great effort. As I studied the postal workers attending these two customers, nothing about their efforts or their demeanors seemed to evidence a person out of control or working with great effort.

Meanwhile, the post office was filing up with new customers, all waiting for assistance. Finally, someone did arrive from the bowels of the post office to attend to other customers. Fortunately, this postal employee had apparently rested sufficiently on her government-mandated break to attend to customers in a business-like manner. Either that, or the other people in line had relatively simple tasks to attend to.

At any rate, the line was now dwindling down so that I could actually get served. The thought that it had not been worth it for me to take this task away from my secretary flitted through my brain. Often. But as the new postal worker looked at me and, thusly, rendered me significant, I handed her the three, count them three, certified letters for which I needed her to stamp the receipt with a date stamp, and she, somewhat miraculously, in fact, did so.

Finally, I found myself outside the confines of the United States Post Office, considering this state-sponsored monopoly in letter delivery we have in this country. I know, I know, we do have UPS, FEDEX and other carriers for overnight service. But no one is allowed to compete with the good old Post Office for delivery of letters. That would be a problem for the Postal Service and too logical and competitive in the marketplace of American commerce.

What would Teddy do for us, if confronted with such a state-sponsored monopoly, giving poor service for ever increasing costs? As I stood outside the Post Office, I considered Benjamin Franklin, the founder of the United States Postal Service. A great man, intelligent, witty, creative. One of the original icons of this country. Inventor, statesman, diplomat, bon vivant. And, again, the founder of the United States Postal Service.

Thanks, Ben. Sometimes the good we do can be overshadowed by one or two simple acts.