I went into the post office some years ago, needing stamps.

Me: “I’d like to buy half a dozen stamps, please.”

Clerk: “We don’t sell things in dozens or half-dozens. Your choices are six or twelve.”

Me: “…Six.”

The clerk gave me the requested stamps.

Clerk: “I don’t know why you people make weird and stupid requests like that.”

Me: “A dozen is twelve. Half a dozen is six.”

Clerk: “Now you’re just lying to seem smarter than me.”

Me: “No, ma’am, I would never try to seem smarter than you.”

I left, shaking my head and wondering if maybe, just maybe, we made one too many budget cuts to our education system.

I am closing up the post office with my coworker when a man strolls in and casually places a small package on the counter.

Customer: “I need this to get to Oregon by midnight. It’s important.”

Me: “I’m afraid the fastest we could do is [super expensive third-party rate] overnight, and that would get there by tomorrow.” 

Customer: “No! This is America! You will do this for me!”

Me: “I’m afraid I cannot, sir. It is physically impossible.”

Customer: “It is! This is America! Anything is possible!”

Me: “Sir, you’re asking me to send this package from here in Florida, where it is currently 4:55 pm on a Friday, and get it to Oregon by midnight. Even if I got it onto a plane right now, it would still need to go through multiple sorting offices when it arrives. It’s not possible unless you took it yourself.” 

Customer: “But… This is America!” 

Me: “Sir, what exactly are you expecting to happen when you say that?”

Customer: “To get my own way, d*** it!” 

Me: “Does it usually work?”

Customer: “Yes! Because this is America!” 

Me: “Yes, it is, and I still can’t do what you ask.” 

Customer: *Storming out* “You’re a bad American!”

Coworker: “Please, God, no one tell him you’re Canadian. He’ll use that to justify his personal brand of madness!”

I’m working at a shop-in-shop postal office. It’s super hot outside, but we have air conditioning — phew!

I see a lady coming in, her face as red as a beet or tomato. She’s clearly overheated, so I worry. People like that usually have a short fuse! When she comes closer, I suddenly recognize her; she’s my old teacher! I haven’t seen her in over a decade! 

She comes in with a huge parcel.

Teacher: “Please tell me you can ship this.”

Me: “Eh… I don’t think I can.”

Teacher: “I saw on the website that this size is allowed. I just went to [Store], but they demanded that I make a shipping label because they don’t have a printer, and when I got home, their site was down! So, please…”

Me: “I don’t think I can. [Coworker], can you please come and help?”

Coworker: “Oh… this size? The last time we accepted a parcel this big, the delivery guy scolded us. You should go to a real post office… but I don’t know if [Other Store] has a true post office there…”

There is a moment of silence. I see that [Teacher] looks defeated. I think [Coworker] notices, as well. 

Coworker: “You know what? Let’s just try it. If we have the option to print a shipping label, we’re gonna do it.” *Tries* “Yes, we can! All right, now, if we just hide this package in the back of the shipping cart…” *Does so* “There, let’s cross our fingers! You paid, so whatever happens, it’s not your fault! And [My Name], let me deal with the delivery guy today.”

[Teacher]’s eyes watered, and she mumbled a sweet, trembling, “Thank you so much.” 

And the delivery guy… didn’t notice the big parcel. It was below the maximum allowed size, so I don’t know why he complained last time. According to [Coworker], the delivery guy doesn’t like big parcels because he’s worried about the weight and how to fit it in his bus. Well, this parcel was long but weighed less than 700 grams! A liter of water is heavier!

And my old teacher? It turned out that she DID recognize me! She was still in touch with my parents, but she was unsure and didn’t want to embarrass herself by asking me if I was “that little one from way back then”. From my parents, I found out that cursed path this parcel followed… and that [Teacher] was immensely grateful for what my coworker and I did.

I have recently transferred from working at one post office to another after moving. My new manager comes over to me, laughing.

Me: “What is it?”

Manager: “We just got a review online. You were mentioned.”

Me: “Is it bad?” 

Manager: “Even better: it’s hilarious.”

He shows it to me, and it’s a five-star review, so I am surprised when I read the actual words.

Review: “The new girl did everything perfectly, and the service was polite and prompt, but the tattoos do not make for a good impression. I understand that she is from another branch. Hopefully, our branch can get adequate help soon.”

Me: “I think that might be my favorite complaint about me.”

I printed it out and framed it!

My neighbor and I aren’t friends, but we wave when passing in vehicles or walking. About a year ago, my wife ordered something for one of our kids, and it was delivered to the wrong house. Our house numbers and mailboxes are very similar and easy to confuse, like 668 and 688.

After a couple of days, I called, and the company sent me the photo taken of the box on my neighbor’s porch, so I walked over to retrieve it.

Neighbor: “I took it back to the shipping hub. I was heading in that direction anyway.”

When I asked why he didn’t either text me or just walk next door, he didn’t have an answer. Okay, very frustrating. It took five more days for our item to arrive.

On Friday afternoon, I was working from home, and I saw a box delivered to my porch. I went out to get it and saw that it was a package for [Neighbor]. On the small return portion of the shipping label, it said, “[Electronics Company], one-day rush,” and the shipping sticker said something like $31.39.

My neighbor had ordered a laptop by the weight of it and had rushed it over. I picked it up and went straight to the shipping center — after all my errands were done so I was walking in at 4:50 pm. I didn’t want to risk them trying to redeliver it before the end of the day.

The next day, [Neighbor] came over with the photo of the box on my front deck.

Neighbor: “Do you have my package? It’s important.”

Me: “I took it back to be redelivered.”

Neighbor: *Almost enraged* “Why?!”

Me: “That’s the exact same question I asked you when you did it before. Just thought this was what you wanted going forward.”

He was walking down my driveway, shaking his head extra dramatically, but what’s good for one should be good for all, no?