An Epic Fail That Was Actually a Win
I’d like to take a moment here to send a special thank you to the post office. They really did me a solid this week by delivering my Hawaii postcards.
Isn’t that their job? You may be wondering.
Well yes, yes it is. It is their job to deliver mail stamped with appropriate postage. Which my Hawaii postcards did not have.
B and I had a nice time sitting round our kitchen table, carefully selecting which postcard would go to who, and writing funny and sincere messages. Or rather, B had a nice time watching me write funny and sincere messages while he complained that he didn’t know what to say. What can I say? I obviously have a way w/ words.
I wanted to get my postcards out stat. There’s one post office in the entire financial district. If you go anytime after 8am, prepare to be in line foreverrrrrr (if anyone knows of another post office besides that hell on Milk St, please correct me). Tuesday morning I was all set to go to the post office on my way to work, get in around 7:45am, collect my stamps, and be on my way. Tuesday morning was my first morning back to work after vacation. It was also the morning where I overslept half an hour and had no time to brush my hair, let alone make a post office trip.
I go to the post office Tuesday afternoon around 4, figuring I’ll miss out on the lunch folk and even the clever ones who wait out the lunch rush. Genius, right?
So genius, in fact, that everyone else seemed to have the same idea. I open the door to the post office and am almost smacked in the face with the end of the line. Kill me.
Instead of waiting in line, I opt for the self-help kiosk. I click my way through the intro and get to the part about buying stamps. The screen pops up w/ “Enter the amount of the stamp you would like to buy.” I think to myself about how much stamps are. 44 cents, right? (wrong). So, a postcard stamp is probably half that, around 22 cents. But since the post office is broke, they probably hike those prices up a little, maybe 23, 24 cents. I decide on 25 cents (wrong), and feel smart for considering inflation rates.
I smugly leave after mailing my postcards, laughing at everyone still waiting in line. Suckers.
My smugness lasts until I get back to my desk and, just out of curiosity, decide to Google postcard stamp rates.
Say what?! 32 cents to mail a postcard? I wasn’t even close.
I email my fam and friends to let them know not to expect a postcard from Hawaii (I don’t think anyone expected much from me, but I wanted them to know that I really tried).
I got a voicemail from my dad last night saying that he and my mom got their postcard. I heard from one of my sisters who said she got her postcard. I talked to my sister in Chicago, who’s still waiting on hers, but she’s convinced the Chicago mail system is as corrupt as their schools. I don’t think she’ll get hers for awhile. The jury’s still out on the one I sent my friend in Connecticut. But 4 out of 5 ain't bad!
If the post office was a real person, I'd send them a thank you right about now. But I'd probably put the wrong amount of postage on it.
Isn’t that their job? You may be wondering.
Well yes, yes it is. It is their job to deliver mail stamped with appropriate postage. Which my Hawaii postcards did not have.
B and I had a nice time sitting round our kitchen table, carefully selecting which postcard would go to who, and writing funny and sincere messages. Or rather, B had a nice time watching me write funny and sincere messages while he complained that he didn’t know what to say. What can I say? I obviously have a way w/ words.
I wanted to get my postcards out stat. There’s one post office in the entire financial district. If you go anytime after 8am, prepare to be in line foreverrrrrr (if anyone knows of another post office besides that hell on Milk St, please correct me). Tuesday morning I was all set to go to the post office on my way to work, get in around 7:45am, collect my stamps, and be on my way. Tuesday morning was my first morning back to work after vacation. It was also the morning where I overslept half an hour and had no time to brush my hair, let alone make a post office trip.
I go to the post office Tuesday afternoon around 4, figuring I’ll miss out on the lunch folk and even the clever ones who wait out the lunch rush. Genius, right?
So genius, in fact, that everyone else seemed to have the same idea. I open the door to the post office and am almost smacked in the face with the end of the line. Kill me.
Instead of waiting in line, I opt for the self-help kiosk. I click my way through the intro and get to the part about buying stamps. The screen pops up w/ “Enter the amount of the stamp you would like to buy.” I think to myself about how much stamps are. 44 cents, right? (wrong). So, a postcard stamp is probably half that, around 22 cents. But since the post office is broke, they probably hike those prices up a little, maybe 23, 24 cents. I decide on 25 cents (wrong), and feel smart for considering inflation rates.
I smugly leave after mailing my postcards, laughing at everyone still waiting in line. Suckers.
My smugness lasts until I get back to my desk and, just out of curiosity, decide to Google postcard stamp rates.
I email my fam and friends to let them know not to expect a postcard from Hawaii (I don’t think anyone expected much from me, but I wanted them to know that I really tried).
I got a voicemail from my dad last night saying that he and my mom got their postcard. I heard from one of my sisters who said she got her postcard. I talked to my sister in Chicago, who’s still waiting on hers, but she’s convinced the Chicago mail system is as corrupt as their schools. I don’t think she’ll get hers for awhile. The jury’s still out on the one I sent my friend in Connecticut. But 4 out of 5 ain't bad!
If the post office was a real person, I'd send them a thank you right about now. But I'd probably put the wrong amount of postage on it.
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