I recently moved, and I set up mail forwarding immediately. For two weeks, I never receive a single piece of mail. When an online order shows that it is out for delivery and then returned to the post office, I go down to the post office to see what’s happening.

The employee behind the counter looks no more than twenty-one and is clearly annoyed that I have just walked in.

Me: “Hi. I set up mail forwarding a couple of weeks ago, but I haven’t received anything.”

Employee: “Maybe you just didn’t get any mail.”

Me: *With a humoring laugh* “Is there any way you could check to make sure my forwarding went through your system?”

I hand over my ID.

Employee: *Rolling his eyes* “Yeah… Wait here.”

The employee disappears through a door and I wait for a few minutes. He returns with a stack of mail and my missing package.

Employee: “I called your mail carrier. He thought it was suspicious that a person with a different name just suddenly started receiving nothing but forwarded mail there, so he didn’t deliver it.”

Me: “Uhh, okay. Is forwarding mail not common?”

Employee: “I don’t know, but you have everything now.”

Me: “Okay. Will I be getting my mail properly now?”

Employee: *Shrugs* “Probably. He should just be following the address, though.”

Me: “Yes… he should.”

Employee: “Okay, then. Have a nice day.”

The employee walked into the back again.

The next day, I waited for the mail carrier and introduced myself, thinking it would help. He seemed to struggle with the idea that people move, but he agreed to do his best to remember to deliver my mail.

Today, my husband went to get our mail from our PO box, and when he pulled up to the post office, this huge SUV was pulled up perpendicular to the door. It was so close that when he opened the post office door, it touched the woman’s bumper. He couldn’t even get in.

Now, there is very little parking down there. However, most normal people park parallel to the post office — so, you know, people can get in and out of it without having to suck in their gut and do their Flat Stanley impressions.

The woman came out, and she had to turn sideways to get out. She moved the SUV all of four inches!

It’s just after midday on Friday, and I am in the post office to send off a parcel for work. The post office is very short on staff; there’s only one person on duty. As a result of the staff shortage, the post office is closing early. It’s located inside another shop, and an employee of that shop places a barrier across and puts up signs saying the post office is closed.

There are perhaps half a dozen people still in the queue, and the post office worker is going to serve us and then go home — late.

There is another post office in town, but it’s at the bus station about ten minutes’ walk away.

A number of people come to the post office, see the barrier and the signs, and then go off, some sighing in frustration, others muttering to themselves. But one man looks at the signs and the barrier and then moves the barrier, climbs in front, and smirks to himself. He’s a fit, healthy young man, well able to go to the bus station. I give him a harsh look from four people away, but he just smirks. He thinks he’s got into the queue.

A few minutes later, the employee who put up the barrier comes back. The man is still smirking to himself when the employee speaks to him.

Employee: “Excuse me. The post office is closed. That man in front of you was the last man in the queue when the barrier was closed. You need to go to the bus station; they’ll serve you there.”

Man: “But there’s a queue here.”

Employee: “Yes. These people were here before the counter closed. Once they’ve been served, that’s it. You won’t be served.”

Man: “But there’s a queue.”

Employee: “Yes, and all the people in the queue were here before the counter closed. You won’t be served. You need to go to the bus station.”

Man: “But there’s a queue here.”

Employee: “And you’re not in it. Go to the bus station.”

Defeated and no longer smirking the man left — hopefully, to go to the bus station.

I know it’s frustrating, but the poor counter clerk had clearly been there since about eight in the morning and looked quite exhausted when she served me. If there’s a barrier and the counter is closing, you can’t join the queue.

The post office has a red light installed at the entrance that shows if the post office is full (maximum of six customers) or not. If the light is green, you can enter. If not, you have to wait until someone leaves.

I have been waiting for a few minutes and am next in line, standing right before the door outside, when, all of a sudden, a woman comes from behind and tries to squeeze past me, pushing me in the process. Irritated, I reflexively hold out my arm to block her from entering, because, well, I am next in line and the light is red, so no one is allowed to go in.

Me: “Hey, you can’t go in right now. I am next!”

Woman: “But I only need to fill out a form!”

She physically tries to push past me again.

Me: “So what? You cannot just cut in line!”

Woman: “But I only have to fill out a form; I don’t have a package!”

At this point, she is still trying to push me, and I REALLY do not like that, so I firmly plant myself in front of the door and confront her.

Me: “That does not matter! We are all waiting to go in. Will you please back up?!”

She just stares at me like I have suddenly grown two heads and starts yelling:

Woman: “You are sick! You are a sick person, that’s what you are! You need help!“

Me: *Flabbergasted* “What?!”

Woman: “You are a sick person! You are a psychopath! You need help! You need a psychiatrist!“

While she is having her tantrum, another man has managed to slip past me and inside the building, while the light is still red. It happens so fast and I am so distracted that I have no time to react at all. Of course, once the woman sees this, she grows even angrier.

Woman: “Why do you let him go in front? Is this a joke? It’s because I am a foreigner! You Germans are all the same!”

While she does have an accent, this obviously has nothing to do with the fact that I do not want her to just cut in line. She’s also not wearing a mask, which is mandatory at this time.

I am so done with her and do not want to cause any more drama, so I just turn around and try to ignore her while she continues her tirade. After about the tenth “YOU ARE SICK!” comment, I counter:

Me: “Well, I am not sick, but if you do not wear a mask, you soon will be!”

Woman: “I am not sick! You are a psycho! I am a doctor!”

Luckily, the light then went green and I could finally go in. When I came back out, she was gone, fortunately.

The post workers could not see the entrance directly from their counters because of how the building was organized. If they could, maybe one of them might have intervened.

A woman came in with a guy in a wheelchair who looked around sixteen.

Woman: “I want to collect a parcel for my son. His name is [Guy].”

She did not have any proof with her that she was his mother and also did not have the same family name.

Me: “Does the young man have any ID?”

She pointed over her shoulder with her thumb.

Woman: “You don’t think that that one has an ID, do you?”

Any random person might say any ableist stuff about a person, but their own mother?

Every person in Germany can have an ID and passport, by the way.