(In the 1980s, there was an effort to assist Jews in the USSR who wanted to emigrate but were denied. Really, all a US citizen could do was write to them and tell them we were working for their release. It also served to annoy the Soviets. My mother joined the campaign and was given a family to write to. Part of the instructions were to mail the letter with a “return receipt postcard” attached. This was to be mailed back by the recipients so that she would know that they received her original letter. I’m not sure who paid for this return postage. One time, after a suitable waiting period, the return postcard did not arrive. My mother went to the local post office to register a complaint. This was not a complaint against the US Postal Service but a way of letting the Soviets know we were watching.)

Mom: “I wish to register a complaint that a letter I sent to the USSR was not received. I know this because I never received the return receipt postcard.”

Clerk: “We would need a letter from them telling us they didn’t receive your letter.”

Mom: “Wait, what? You want them to send me a letter telling me they didn’t get the letter I sent them?”

Clerk: “Yes.”

(Mom stares at the clerk and asks for a manager, please. A manager comes over.)

Manager: “What seems to be the problem?”

Clerk: “I was just telling her I can’t open a complaint form until she receives a letter telling her they didn’t receive her letter.”

(The manager stared at the clerk and told them to go work on [something]. The manager then filled out the complaint form for my mother.)

(I am dropping off a package at the post office. I am pretty busy but I don’t have anywhere to be so I wait my turn patiently. Unfortunately, as soon as the clerk is free, my phone begins to ring.)

Me: “Oh, shoot. I gotta take this.” *to the person behind me* “You can go ahead.”

Woman #1: “Thank you!”

(I step off to the side to take my call as the woman goes on ahead. It turns out it’s nothing big and I am able to hang up quickly and go back to waiting behind [Woman #1]. However, when [Woman #1] is done and walking away…)

Woman #2: “MOVE!”

(This second lady shoulders me out of the way and slams her package onto the counter as though we were in some sort of race.)

Clerk: “Actually, ma’am, she was next in–“

Woman #2: “No, she wasn’t. She stepped out of line to answer her phone, so she gave up her spot. She can go to the back of the line, or leave!”

(Then, in perfect timing that only this chaotic universe can provide, HER phone ends up ringing. I don’t know where it’s coming from until she looks at her purse then looks back up, making eye contact with me. Whether it is because she catches the hint of smugness and amusement on my face, has decided to double-down on her own assertion, or would’ve done the same if this situation hadn’t happened, she turns back to the clerk, digs out her phone from her purse, and ANSWERS IT RIGHT THERE.)

Woman #2: “Oh, hi, [Friend]. How’ve you been?”

Clerk: “Uh, ma’am?”

Woman #2: *shoving her package towards the clerk’s general direction* “Yeah, I’m just at the post office getting my son’s gift weighed and priced.” *pointedly looking at clerk* “I would’ve already been out of here if there weren’t idiots holding up the line.”

(I have had it with this woman and am about to start ripping into her. Truth be told, I don’t know what I could say to her that wouldn’t cause more of a delay for everyone, but I luckily never get to. Unbeknownst to anyone, [Woman #1] has stayed back and watched the whole thing unfold.)

Woman #1: “[Woman #2]?”

Woman #2: *freezes, then looks at [Woman #1], confused*

Woman #1: “[Woman #2]? [Woman #2], is that you? What are you doing?”

Woman #2: “I… I’m sorry, I don’t—”

Woman #1: “You’ve never acted like this, never. I honestly can’t believe my eyes. Is this how you are to others?”

Woman #2: *beet red* “I… I’ve got to go!!”

(With that, she practically snatches up her package from the clerk’s hands and bolts out of the place. A collective sigh of relief is had for everyone present and I finally make it to the counter. [Woman #1] stands by to check in on me as the clerk is doing her thing.)

Woman #1: “Are you all right?”

Me: “I’m fine, thank you. But, um… I’m sorry about your friend. Maybe she was…”

Woman #1: *laughing* “Oh, I have no idea who the h*** she is, thank God. I just took a peek at what names were on her package and made a gamble.”

(I’m so thankful for that woman. She unknowingly saved me from blowing a gasket with her quick thinking. Since the local post office is super close to me, I hope to run into her again and trade contact info, at least to send her a holiday card for the future!)

(My neighbor and I happen to share the same last name — a common Spanish surname. The postman has been getting our mail mixed up since I moved in. I finally catch him in the act one day.)

Me: “I’m actually [My Name]. [Neighbor] is my neighbor.”

Postman: “Aren’t you related?”

Me: “No, it’s a common last name. He’s been living here ten years longer than I have.”

Postman: *scoffs* “But you have the same last name. That must mean you’re related.”

Me: “What’s your last name?”

Postman: [Common English Name].”

Me: “Do you know all of the [Common English Name]s?”

(He paused, turned bright red, and then put the mail in the correct box. He hasn’t screwed up since.)

(I work for a US-based company that specifically caters to Canadians; this means that all of our customers have to cross the US/Canada border. A man comes in one day to pick up his packages, and as per policy, I ask to see his photo ID.)

Customer: “I don’t have any ID.” *searches through wallet* “Will a debit card work?”

Me: “Um, no, sir, I need something with your photo.”

Customer: “Well, I don’t have any ID, so I guess this means I can’t pick up today.”

Me: “If I may ask, sir, how did you cross the border?”

Customer: *lightbulb goes on* “OH! I can get you my passport; it’s in the car!” *runs to get it*

Coworker: “You have to hold their hands, [My Name]. You have to hold their hands.”

(My workplace is one of those businesses that allows Canadians to order stuff, have it shipped to us, and then come pick it up. We deal with a lot of packages every day, but this Black Friday/Cyber Monday broke our systems; the office is a sea of packages and everyone is working nonstop to handle the load. A man comes in to pick up, so I put my other tasks on hold to wait on him. I look in his file and see that he has fifteen packages currently processed and stored. Normally, we’d ask our customers — especially anyone expecting a lot of things — to notify us when they’re coming so we can be ready, but okay: all stations are behind, so maybe he did notify and we just couldn’t get to his stuff in time. I slog through the piles of boxes to find his items, some of which are tiny and hard to find, but I manage. When I count his items out to him, he tells me he’s expecting one more thing.)

Me: “Was it something coming in today? Because, for the rest of the season, we won’t be able to do same-day pickups; if it comes in today, you’ll have to come back tomorrow.”

Customer: “No, no, it was from last week.”

(His records show fifteen, and he has fifteen parcels on the counter.)

Me: “Do you have a tracking number?”

(We sort all parcels by the name of the addressee, but since shippers sometimes botch the task of writing someone’s name, we sometimes have to look up the tracking number and follow the paper trail.)

Customer: “No, no tracking number! Just go find it!”

Me: “Sir, if it had your name on it, it would be in this stack–” *waves files* “–and if it was in this stack, it would be in this pile.” *points at packages on counter* “If it does not have your name on it, then the only way I can find it is with the tracking number!”

Customer: “No tracking number! Just go find it!”

Me: *considers the giant sea of packages behind me for precisely 0.5 seconds* “I can’t.”

Customer: “No? Should I call [Boss]?”

Me: “If you think she can help you better than I can, then sure. But I can’t do anything without a tracking number.”

Customer: “Fine! Also, one more package; today’s FedEx.”

(FedEx only dropped off their load a few minutes ago. Under normal circumstances, we would need about an hour or so to make sure everything was counted and entered into the system, but today: no. It isn’t going to happen, and there is nothing I can do to make it happen, and I explain as much. He finally leaves, and I spend the rest of the day thinking that if he were any more of a butt, he could crap through both ears. But then later, he comes back, and lo, the crap: the records note that he shipped something out through us. I mentioned this offhand while sorting through his list of items to be picked up. Now:)

Customer: “I want my outgoing!”

Me: “Pardon?”

Customer: “My outgoing! I will take it to UPS!”

(I figured he was being petty because of the earlier snafu, but whatever. He keeps money on account with us, meaning he had technically already paid his shipping costs, so my boss would have to go in and adjust his balance after this. In the meantime, I went to where our outgoing packages were stored and was confronted with another massive stack of boxes in various shapes and sizes. My work was falling further and further behind with every moment spent sifting through them, but sift I did, and consoled myself by taking this opportunity to at least sort the out-bound FedEx onto a cart for that night’s pickup. Finally, a coworker came up and asked what I was doing, so I explained and showed him the invoice. When I did, it came up that the date on the invoice was from a few days ago, meaning that the package was already long gone. I explained this to the customer, who finally left. But at least that fellow can hold his head high, knowing that he personally disproves every last stereotype about Canadians. “Always polite,” my foot!)