Alice hates ...

Soooo, I may have just caused a snafu at the post office. A mild postal patron argument. But I got out in time, so that's good with me.

I was in the post office by my house, attempting to return my Netflix DVDs and mail some book mom's returning to Amazon. Both packages had metered, prepaid postal fare.

At 4:30 in the evening, the post office was packed. The line curled around the lobby, at least fourty people in line, all holding packages. I slipped in, heading to the back of the line.

Three minutes later, the woman in front of me gives a frustrated sigh, and walked out the door. The woman in front of her took a step forward, leaving a moderate-sized gap between me and the next person. In that half-second pause, a round older woman hustled into line in front of me. Blatant cutting. This woman was now standing entirely too close; I could smell her hair and see dandruff flakes. The ladies behind me made little grunts of annoyance.

I didn't say anything. I never do.

Three minutes later, we all shuffle forward a bit. The Cutter, wearing a lime green stretch cotton top, purple capri pants with dyed-red hair, lets slip a package of labels from her arms. She doesn't stop to retrieve them.

So I do. "Excuse me, ma'am, you dropped your labels."

She turns, and I feel the full weight of her gaze.

"Thank you." She eyes me, and my stuff, and having decided that I was no threat to her and her ill-gotten position in line, decides to offer a tip. Share her post office handling prowess.

"Is that all you have? That's not much. Are they stamped?" I show her the postage-paid marks on the envelope and box. "Yes, they're all paid. You could just run to the front and throw your package on the counter. Real quick. No sense in waiting."

Now, while this does make perfect sense in theory, I know that would make the entire line of postal patrons hate me. The postal woman (I wish I knew her name, I've talked to her a few times, and she's quite nice) would hate me. It would be just a generally rude act, and of course, as soon as I did it, someone else in the line would sprout a pair and try the same stunt. Leading, of course, to total post office anarchy as the clientel all decide to ignore the long held, established rules of postal engagement.

"No, I couldn't do that. I can wait, I don't mind."

Something about me, apparently, just cries 'help me'. This woman, who had cut me and invariably made my wait just that much longer, would not relent until I submitted to her will to aid me.

"Well, look, you could slide the box in the slot marked 'metered letters' it looks like it would fit."
"Oh, I'm not sure..."
"Go ahead. Go try. I'll save your spot." She steps closer, to emphasize the point. I turn a bit, and shift the box to my other side, avoiding eye contact with the other customers. I'm convinced, in my head, that they know exactly what my plan is anyway, and they're judging already.

I slip the evelope in. Look left, look right. No harried postmen to tell me not to do it. I pull the slot down, slam the box in, shut the door, and hear a loud thud as it hits the bottom of some metal receptacle on the other side. Sweet success. I turn.

"You're not supposed to do that, you know." The eyes of another older woman stare me down. I look at my feet.
"Well, it was metered..."
"That doesn't matter. You're not supposed to do that." Silently, I'm wishing I could just run out the door, but now this woman, this postal hall monitor, blocks my escape route.
"It's okay!" yells the woman in stretch green, now my savior. "It was paid! I saw it." The new woman, my personal linebacker, looks unimpressed.
"I did that once. They sent it back," Linebacker says.
"Umm... I didn't mean..." (I'm quite articulate, really. )
"Oh, go ahead, honey!" Yells The Cutter, now playing the roll of cheerleader. The Linebacker's lip curls into a sneer, face hardening now that she realizes I'm in cahoots with The Cutter. Clearly, her lesson in postal etiquette would fall on deaf ears if I'm of her sort. She turns, and rolling her eyes so hard I can almost hear it.

She's given up on me, but that's all I need. Her half-turn as she shifted her girth to insult me to her friend created enough space for me to slip out. I give a small wave to The Cutter, and slip out the door.