SANTA GOES POSTAL…ER, NOT QUITE
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As I age and turn portly, I seem to look more like Santa Claus each day. Even little kids sometimes look up at me and say with awe, “Are you Santa Claus?” I answer in various ways, depending upon mood and situation: “No, I’m not Santa, but I know Santa very well.” If the child is interested, I go further, “And right now, I’m making a list and checking it twice,” as I pull out sticky notes and pen.
It’s fun to chat with kids and to see the light in their eyes when they are enjoying our interactions.
The Ol’ Saint Nick mood is my favorite mood, and on my good days I try hard to hold on to it. I’ve found, in my dotage, that I have to cheer myself up when there’s no-one else cheerful at hand.
So, this morning, on the way to the shop, I drop by the Homewood Post Office to post a couple of books to customers far away.
As I enter the building, sporting my best Santa goodwill grin, I check with one woman to see if she’s already ahead of me in line. She smilingly insists I go ahead of her, as if to Santa, attention must be paid .
I walk up to the shorter of two clerks, an unfamiliar one who is wearing blue latex gloves and a deep frown, complete with zero eye contact. As always, in my best old-time announcer cheery voice, I say, “Good morning!” She mumbles. I hand her two small packages and, as I invariably do, I say, “These are media mail, with tracking, please.” She asks the familiar post-9/11 postal questions about whether there is dangerous material in the packages and I say, no, just books.
Then, staring at the scales to the side of her–and still not looking up or at me–she grumpily says, “Now, is there written material or anything else inside?” I say, “Nope, just books–media mail,” I stress. She says “Are you SURE?”
I’m taken aback but remind myself that today, I am Santa and nothing can dissolve my good cheer.
To reassure her, I say, “I know the rules–been doing this for forty years. Books are media mail.”
She says nothing, weighs the first book, then for some reason slides it across to my side of the counter. I automatically pick it up, thinking she’s handing it back to me. She reaches over and snatches it from me. I raise my eyebrows, grin, and say, “Sorry, I thought you were finished.” She snaps, “No, I’m not finished,” and slaps a self-adhesive label on the package.
The clerk then silently weighs and labels the second package.
I automatically get my Amex card out as I do several times a week at the post office and swipe it across the lighted terminal–prematurely. She says, “It’s not ready!” I say, “Oops!” Then I say, “Is it ready now?” She snaps yes, so I do a successful swipe, then as always–usually for grateful clerks who appreciate being able to view the security number themselves–hold the card up for her to see.
She looks at it and says, “Say the number.”
Suddenly, I am gravely aware that her strange attitude/hostility is not my imagination–I know now that I have an annoying–and annoyed–clerk on my hands. The other clerk, the one with whom I’m used to having pleasant transactions, pretends none of this is happening and says nothing. She seems somewhat fearful.
Without thinking, and because all other clerks for the last twenty years have expressed appreciation for my showing them the card itself close up, I say, “Sorry, I can’t read this (as if I need reading glasses).” My sullen clerk, looking at the line of bemused customers behind me, sighs and takes down the number I’m displaying, as if she’s lost some kind of contest. The charge goes through, she literally tosses the receipt at me and gets ready for the next customer.
I automatically say a cheerful, “Thanks,” even though I’m not sure why.
I turn to go and notice the wide-eyed looks of the witnesses behind me in line.
All I can say with a smile is, “Ah…the spirit of Christmas. Geez!”
I get a laugh.
I have succeeded in not going postal.
I leave peacefully, hoping to have better luck at tossing my good cheer around someplace else today–maybe at my sanctuary, the bookshop at the center of the Universe.
Hope you, too, get through the day without going postal. Come down to the store and we’ll share war stories or just enjoy the peaceful atmosphere of books well worth the time
© Jim Reed 2013 A.D.