The Post Office

I go to the post office a lot, because I sell a lot of things online. But today I had to go to a different one, and it was really crowded. There were a lot of people in line, and when I walked in and saw them all, I thought about how much God loved each of them. They were all so different. There was this frizzy-haired new mommy holding her brand new baby girl in a big fleece blanket. Behind her was a thin black woman who was extremely interested in the baby (and this baby was NOT cute). Behind her was a young Indian woman who looked like she must be in med school somewhere. She was completely engrossed in her iPhone, and not at all interested in the baby conversation going on around her. Behind her was a man with a protruding beer belly, wearing an Alabama hat and Christmas t-shirt. He was excessively talkative, and tried to converse with everyone in line. He was also quite offensive. He asked the woman holding the baby if she had any others, and she said "no, she's an only - for now anyway." He said "well, you better get to work on that second one...if you've only got one child and it's a girl, you don't count as a parent yet." I couldn't believe he said it right there in the post office - I wanted to go cover that ugly baby's little ears. 

When that conversation didn't yield any fruit, he moved on to try and strike a conversation with a much more likely individual - the tall, lanky guy behind him, who was also wearing Alabama paraphernalia. The pot-bellied man started re-capping the ALvLSU game and explaining, in detail, where Alabama's team had gone wrong. He rattled off about how "the only way to beat that team" is to blahblahblahblah... "but they don't let me call the plays." The lanky man wouldn't make eye contact and just occasionally grunted and nodded so as not to be totally rude. I knew there were probably a lot of men out there having identical conversations, but I still found it hilarious that any of them could be so arrogant as to think they're more qualified to coach the team than the one who is actually getting paid the millions of dollars.

Our line slowly inched forward, and a harried woman bustled into the lobby with a parcel claim from her PO Box. The door leading to the claim office was closed, and a sign had been posted that instructed her to wait in the big line. In full frustration, she marched to the end of the line, and began puffing air out of the side of her mouth at regular intervals. The pot-bellied man chimed in and said "they hung that sign and built the place around it, you know." (As if this might help her attitude). 

Mr. Pot-Belly finally got his turn at the counter, and that's when I saw the giant box of packages he had been waiting in line to mail. When he hoisted it onto the counter everyone in the room let out a mostly undetectable moan. It was similar to the sound people make at the grocery store when they realize they're behind an avid coupon-er. The woman directly in front of me was older, with a long, white ponytail and acid-wash jeans. She began tapping her foot impatiently in his direction as she hypocritically slid her own box-o-packages slightly forward. By this time the back of the line was now full of new customers, and I heard two gentlemen behind me chatting, so I strategically angled myself so I could observe them. One of them was tall with white hair a blue button-up. He looked like he still worked for "the man," but his age indicated that he had probably just done so for so many years of his life he had forgotten how to loosen his tie. The other one, who was about the same age, looked like he might try to date your 17-year-old daughter. He donned a pair of loafers, twill shorts and a mock turtleneck to finish off the "I'm casual - but I still paid $1,000 for this outfit" look. And what do you think these two upper-class retirees were talking about? The ALvLSU game.