Unfiltered Story #186980

My dad shared this story with me. He works for the Post Office Field Maintenance. Much of what he does involves trucking through about five counties repairing PO boxes, towing broken down delivery trucks, painting those big blue drop boxes and other miscellaneous stuff.

During one of the very rare times he was inside the home base building, a woman stormed up to him. He could see her coming, and could actually feel the tension coming off of her like she was about to explode.

Angry woman in a snippy tone: “Do you work here?”

Dad (in the derpiest, aw-shucks accent he can dredge up): “Yes ma’am! I’m the Janitor!”

The lady came to a full stop. She blinked. Looked confused. Her inner wheels spun uselessly for about ten seconds.

Angry woman: “…Oh…”

She spun on her heel, wind out of her sails, and went looking for someone else, a lot more hesitantly.

Field Maintenence would be useless to anyone with a complaint, and it’s not his job to assist anyone anyway. The rigid structure of the Post Office requires work orders.

Even if it was for a repair job, she would have to report it to the front desk, who would generate a report, who would send it to the office higher up, who would approve the repair, and then someone would have been assigned to go fix it. Bureaucracy at it’s most inefficient.