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NEXT IN LINE THROUGH GRITTED TEETH, PLEASE
The long gray line inches forward. Inch by inch, of course.
For a moment I am at the far end of the line, but I soon shed that status when other people queue up behind me. We are all temporary victims, er, postal patrons, waiting our turn at posting packages to far away climes.
Since we are in a long gray line we slowly become grayish and glum in order to match the gray and glum clerks whose mood is…gray and glum.
Just another day in postal service paradise. Just two clerks to service the long gray line.
Every few minutes, without looking up from the gray and glum counter, a clerk will shout out NEXT IN LINE! The uninitiated patrons do not first respond, since all they hear is the voice of someone saying something like NEXT’NLINE! No way to tell what this means the first time you hear it.
Eventually, a more experienced patron will nudge the nextinline person and say, “That means you.” As if startling oneself from a deep sleep, the nextinline looks around, sees a clerk with no customer, and makes the assumption that it’s time to go get postalized.
Once more, the line inches forward, then pauses.
The clerk mumbles something so muttery and rote that it’s barely understandable, SORRYFORTHEWAIT. It’s a mandated statement with no meaning, so it does not stand on its own as a sincere apology.
No matter, the patron is relieved at getting on with the transaction and escaping this gray place, the sooner the better.
Just as the line gets longer, one of the two clerks slaps down a CLOSED sign and disappears into the cavern behind her. The remaining clerk just keeps on keeping on, trying to be efficient, even polite at times, to diminish the line.
Once in a while the gray clerk brightens up when someone she knows arrives. They chat merrily. I am relieved that there is humanity acting itself out. I am not amused that this means the line will stop until the clerk is good and ready to reboot.
There are some ways I can help myself get through these moments. I can go postal and get all wrought up over much of nothing. Or I can enjoy the experience, talk and signify with my temporary nearby gray line neighbors. I can amuse myself by gazing at the posters designed to make me happy at being at the mercy of the system. I can watch the interaction between one glum and gray employee whose job is to tote boxes half her size from the outside, swing them up onto the counter, wipe sweat from her brow, then exit into the cavern to join her fellow worker.
Eventually, the second clerk reappears and yells NEXT IN LINE!
Life is back to normal.
As the gray line progresses, a flashback occurs. Way back when, when I visit London, the railway and tube clerks all exhibit the same behavior as these postal clerks. Through gritted teeth, they are required to constantly apologize for the lateness of the trains or the inconvenience of the people-processing.
WE APOLOGIZE! is repeated every minute or so, always through gritted teeth, always with some kind of repressed rage. Kind of scary. Just like right here, right now, at the big ol’ gray post office.
I finally get lucky and am faced with the only clerk who voluntarily smiles and converses while taking care of my packages. This is a blessing and I am appreciating it. We even share quips and jokes!
Then, as suddenly as it appears, her smile disappears after the transaction and she braces for the next patron after me. She also braces for the glum disapproval of the other clerk, who is thinking, What’s this good mood stuff all about? Something must be wrong with her. No good deed will remain unpunished.
I escape the gray line, rush to the gray parking lot and drive away, relieved and chuckling.
That wasn’t so bad, was it? I say to myself
© 2019 A.D. by Jim Reed