(I work for Royal Mail at Christmas as a casual worker. Due to the sheer number of Amazon parcels to sort (there were hundreds of thousands) my coworkers and I are pulled off sorting to help put packages into trolleys (known as yorks) so that the work can keep flowing.)

Manager: “Right, we need these parcels sorted out as soon as possible so if you lot can get them into the yorks and over to primary sorting that would extremely helpful!”

Coworker #1: “Uh, [Manager], how are we to get them open when the shipping boxes have been sealed with plastic wrap?”

Manager: “Ah, that is why I have these.” *he brandishes four pairs of scissors at us* “These should be able to help you.”

Coworker #2: *in a tone of mock seriousness* “All right, [Manager], put down the scissors. We’ll do the work!”

(It’s the end of the semester, so I’m in the on-campus post office to mail my (much cheaper) online rented textbooks back. I’m at the counter, waiting for another girl to finish with the packing tape.)

Me: “Excuse me; can I get that tape when you’re done with it?”

Girl: “Ugh.”

(She yanks my box out of my hands, slams it on the counter, and proceeds to tape it shut and tape down the shipping label in a really aggressive, sloppy way.)

Me: “Uh, I didn’t mean—”

Girl: “YOU’RE WELCOME!”

(I’m at the post office to pick up a package. I’m already irritated about having stood in line for almost an hour. I have my slip and ID, which is an Icelandic passport.)

Post Office Dude: “Iceland?”

Me: “Yes.”

Post Office Dude: *stares at passport* “That’s a place?

Me: *irritated* “Yes, it’s my home country.”

Post Office Dude: “Oh… like Greenland?”

Me: “NO! Iceland!”

Post Office Dude: *shrugs and goes to get package*

Me: “I haven’t been receiving my mail anymore. Do you know why?”

Clerk: “I don’t know. Did you fill out a form to stop it?”

Me: “Of course not!”

Clerk: “Then, I don’t know.” *shrugs*

Me: “…Let me speak to your supervisor.”

(A lady turns around behind him. She’s clearly heard the whole thing.)

Supervisor: “Yes?”

(Deciding to humor her, I repeat myself.)

Supervisor: “Hold on.”

(She goes in the back and I wait for a long time. Finally she comes out.)

Supervisor: “I’ve spoken with your mail carrier. There’s no one living at your address.”

Me: *absolutely flabbergasted* “What?! I’m there!”

Supervisor: “He said that he looked and knocked and no one answered.”

Me: “I have two jobs, day and night, and I don’t have time to answer the door. I only go there to sleep! But I still live there!”

Supervisor: *skeptical* “Two jobs? That’s unlikely. We can’t deliver to an abandoned location.”

Me: “It’s not abandoned!”

(It took a long time to convince her of the truth! I had to practically twist her arm to receive MY mail again!)

(A family friend is visiting from Quebec. His English is mostly good but suffers from occasional lapses.)

Clerk: “How may I help you today?”

Friend: “Yes, hello. I need to buy some timbers.”

Clerk: “Some what?”

Friend: “Timbers.”

Clerk: “Sir, this is a post office. Perhaps you want the hardware store?”

Friend: “No, no, timbers. To mail the letters with. The little pictures? They are, um, gluey on the back?”

Clerk: *light-bulb moment* STAMPS. You want stamps.”

Friend: “Yes! Stamps.”

(The French word for “stamp” is “timbre”, pronounced like “TAM-bruh”.)

Friend: *to me, in French* “Why didn’t you help me?”

Me: *in French* “I thought it was funny.”

Friend: *in French* “What’s a ‘timber,’ then?”

Me: *in French* “It’s another word for wood.”

Friend: *in French* “Well, that makes NO sense. English is a crazy language.” *in English* “Yes, I will have a book of stampings, please.”

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