I have to send a parcel, and I buy the “stamp” online. I head for the postal office to drop it off. The postal service I decide to use is originally a yellow German service and more of a store-in-store type.

Employee: “Oh, you bought a stamp online. We have a self-service for that now; you can scan your parcel over there.”

Me: “Oh, I didn’t know. Thank you!”

I head to the self-service station, and I arrive almost at the same time as someone else. I didn’t see him heading that way, and I am there before him.

Customer: “Cutting the line, are we? Hahaha!”

Me: “Oh, eh… I’m sorry.”

I try to scan my QR code stamp as quickly as possible, but first, I don’t squeeze the handheld scanner enough, and then my phone screen with the QR code isn’t bright enough

Customer: “Man, cutting the line and being slow! Hahaha!”

I am getting embarrassed, working as fast as I can, following the instructions. I finally scan the package and get a sticker barcode to paste on the parcel. Of course, the sticker doesn’t want to come off.

Customer: “It’s complicated, isn’t it? Hahaha!”

Employee: “Sir, did you buy a stamp online?”

Customer: “No, not needed.”

Employee: “Oh, the self-service is for people who bought a stamp online. Let me help you over here.”

Customer: “Oh, so I didn’t even need to wait for this slow lady! Hahaha! Here you go! These need to be returned.”

Employee: “Eh… sir? This type of return address only works with the [National Orange Postal Services].”

Customer: “Yes, that’s exactly right!”

Employee: “We don’t have a contract with [National Orange Postal Services], just the [Yellow German Services].”

There’s a short silence.

Employee: “I think you need the store next door.”

Customer: “Oh, eh… thank you.”

From laughing and joking to silent and red. I was okay with that.

During the era of fax machines, our post office has a fax service. A mother and her seven-or-so-year-old daughter come in. The daughter comes up to me.

Daughter: *Sweetly* “I want to send my best friend a fax! She just moved away, and she just got a fax machine.”

Me: “We can absolutely do that for you! Do you have the letter?”

The little girl hands me a sealed envelope.

Me: “Can I open this?”

Daughter: “No! It’s not for you! It’s for my best friend!”

Mother: “How rude of you! Do you make a habit of opening private mail? Should I be complaining?”

Me: “I can’t fax a sealed envelope, ma’am.”

Mother: “Why not?”

Me: “It’s like a Xerox machine, ma’am. It can only copy the paper it sees.”

Mother: “We’re not making a Xerox! We’re sending a fax! Get me someone who knows what they’re doing!”

I call the manager over, who explains that fax machines don’t work that way. Unsurprisingly, the little girl is a lot quicker to understand and has to re-explain it to her mother, who still wants to blame us for something.

Mother: “Well, fine! We’ll be back when the fax machine can open the envelope!”

Related:
Taxing Faxing, Part 38
Taxing Faxing, Part 37
Taxing Faxing, Part 36
Taxing Faxing, Part 35
Taxing Faxing, Part 34

When my wife was the county clerk, our school district was having a vote on a bond issue. The school board wanted to do a mail ballot.

My wife had the ballots printed and the envelopes printed to mail out the ballots to district-registered voters. The envelope included a stamped message that the mailed envelope was not to be forwarded. She began to mail the ballots by placing them in trays provided by our post office. She would take each tray, five in total, throughout the day and hand it to the postal clerk.

After the first tray was taken and they brought [Wife] the second tray, she was approached by the postmaster and told that, by regulations, the stamped message was in the wrong place and the wording was incorrect.

Postmaster: “We’ll go ahead and send out those in these two trays, but any more will have to be correct according to regulations.”

[Wife] had all the rest of the envelopes reprinted and brought to the post office.

About a week later, she started getting ballot envelopes she had mailed out the week before returned, stamped by the post office as unable to forward.

[Wife] took these to the postmaster and asked why they were stamped “unable to forward” after he’d made such an issue out of the placement and wording.

Postmaster: “I thought the vote was important and wanted to make sure everyone got a chance to vote.”

Wife: “If the voter no longer lives at the address on the envelope, then that person is not a properly registered voter and should not be given a ballot. That is why the stamp was put on in the first place. It is a federal voting law. Now, because you ignored the stamp, we have no idea how many people should not have been given a ballot and voted with it. I will file a formal complaint against you for what you have done and notify the school board of your actions.”

Another case of people ignoring signs.

We’ve been having trouble the past few months with receiving our mail. More often than not, we get mail that’s not addressed to us, and our neighbors frequently have to trade mail with us.

I file a complaint with the post office. A few days later, I get a call.

Post Office: “Hi. You complained that you weren’t getting your mail?”

Me: “Yeah, we’re constantly getting the mail for our neighbors, and they’re getting ours. I’m kind of sick of having to trade to get our mail.”

Post Office: “So, you are getting your mail in the end, right? What’s the problem?”

I pause for a long moment.

Me: “The problem is that whoever is doing the delivery isn’t giving me the correct mail.”

Post Office: “But you said your neighbors trade you for the right mail, so you are getting it.”

Me: “Yes, but it’s not our responsibility to finish the mail delivery process. It’s yours.”

Post Office: “I’ll just tell the mail carrier to be more careful. But there’s really no issue if you’re getting your mail in the end.” *Hangs up*

We’re still not getting the correct mail.

Back in the days when technology is still mostly analog, an elderly woman comes in.

Customer: “I’ll need some assistance with your self-serve fax machines.”

Me: “I can absolutely help you with that, ma’am. Where is your document?”

Customer: “What document?”

Me: “The document you want to fax, ma’am.”

Customer: “I still don’t know what you mean. Anyway, I want to fax this birthday cake.”

Me: “A birthday… card?”

She hefts a box up onto the counter.

Customer: “Are you deaf? No, this cake! Hurry up! My grandchild’s party will be starting soon!”

Yes, she was hoping to place this birthday cake into our fax machine and fax it to her grandchild. I then had to explain to her that one cannot fax objects. She left the store, rather disappointed.