Eurgh.
The proof is in the mail. Literally, I just dropped it off at the nexus of fear and agony that is our post office on Tax Day. I had literally forgotten about taxes (don’t worry, there are reasons and the IRS suggested we get an extension so the DHM can straighten those reasons out). But the moment I stepped into the post office and saw it was CRAWLING with people I remembered, and the spike of pain that went through my head from all the tension reminded me too. It took me twenty minutes of standing in line at the APC–that’s automated postal centre, I think. Which basically is a do it yourselfer type of deal that I adore.
It’s not that I don’t like people, or being waited on. It’s that I can generally do it faster by myself, and I have only so much politeness in me. It can be spent on the people in line in front of me, or it can be spent on the checker. One or the other. You cannot have both from me. I normally hold my silence and reserve all my patience for the checker, who needs and deserves it. But if I can hit the self-serve checkout, then I can get out the door with ALL my patience intact.
Besides, the automated postal machine does not need to be cajoled into telling me what forms I need to mail stuff this week and moonphase. It merely presents me with multiple options, clearly delineated. I LIKE that. I like going into the post office after-hours, when it’s deserted and I can step up to the kiosk, weigh my package, pay for the postage, get my receipt and label, slap the label on the package, and be gone in a matter of five minutes.
Not that I don’t adore postal employees. I have never met one who wasn’t graceful under the stress of repeated applications of idiocy from the general public. I just don’t want to strain their patience or my own.
But I swear, I just want to tell other people one thing.
If you do not already know how to work the automated postal thingie, tax day in the middle of a crowd is NOT THE TIME TO LEARN. Especially if you are already machine-challenged, or cannot even find your debit card, or need to have the woman in line behind you patiently walk you through the process. Honey, if you need someone to walk you through the process, YOU NEED A POSTAL EMPLOYEE. Or at least someone who is getting ding-dang paid to put up with your silly, idiotic, unorganized, faux-Southern-sweet, EXTREMELY IMPOLITE, and apparently doesn’t-get-the-notion-of-personal-space self.
She had halitosis, too.
Once again, today, I have heroically refrained from hurting someone. I think I should get a medal, considering the level of PMS and frustration spilling through my system. Huzzah.
So. Today has been a very long day and I was thinking of going to the Y, but walking to the grocery store is probably all the exercise I can stand. I’ll get back on the treadmill tomorrow, I swear. Tonight I think I just want to veg. And be happy that the proof is in the mail.
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