Perhaps This Part Should Have Been Split Up as Well...

When we last adjourned, I had provided a detailed account of how I received excellent service at the supermarket from a girl we'll call GALLANT.

And now, for the rest of the story...


GOOFUS
I'm sure you will be shocked, SHOCKED, to learn that I encountered GOOFUS at the local post office hub. Not the dead-mouse-smelling post office. The main one. I had a package to mail for Genius, the absentminded professor. He took back his fancy-schmancy camera, but forgot the battery charger.

On the way to visit Mom, we stopped by the dead-mouse-smelling post office, which was not yet open, so The Pony could run in and get me a flat rate box. I made quick work of folding that thing up and stuffing three plastic Walmart bags around the charger for padding. It was just a fit.

After our sojourn with Mom, we had ten minutes to spare before The Pony's bowling league drop-off. He suggested that I swing by the main post office and save myself a dead-mouse trip later. Good thinking by The Pony, probably trying to atone for his inability to fold that box together earlier.

This post office closed at noon, so time was of the essence. I was not happy to see a parking lot full of autos. Nor was I happy to see three people ahead of me at the counter. Three might not seem like much, but it's like dog years...each one of them was sure to take up the time of seven people.

I was REALLY not happy with the way the last woman in line stared at me. You'd think she'd never seen a valedictorian before. Her head even swiveled as I walked by. I wanted to shout, "I'm a woman, not an animal!" and "Take a picture, it'll last longer." Perhaps with some spittle flying out of my mouth to land on her chin. But I refrained. I'm Gallant, you know. Goofus was not going to get my goat. Except that gawking gal was not even the real Goofus. She was working behind the counter.

The guy at the head of the line, holding a small girlchild on his hip, was waiting. And then we saw what for. A giant tub o' mail. He put it on his other hip and sashayed out the PUSH door.  The next lady held a rolled up woman's knit top in her left hand. With her right, she gestured at the flat rate box shelf. "Are all the things on that shelf free? And the others you pay for?" Next to them were cutesy colored items, and bubble wrap, and various shipping accouterments.

"Yes," said Goofus. "The flat rate boxes and envelopes are free. I don't think your item is going to fit in that one" (Shirtsley had picked up a small box), "but that padded envelope should work." She gave the price, and Shirtsley repeated a different amount, and Goofus corrected her, and Shirtsley commented that she prints her shipping labels from eBay, so she gets a 40-cent discount. That's how it goes when you're in line at the post office right before closing.

Goofus turned her attention to Gawkerette, who was only waiting in line for an envelope to be weighed. "I thought it might be too heavy, and I want to make sure it gets delivered, so I thought I'd just bring it in and have it weighed." Goofus put it on the scale. "It's just right. Just at the limit. It's good with one stamp." Gawkerette wasn't having it. "You're sure it will go? No problem? It won't get kicked out for not enough postage?" Goofus took it off the scale. "No. It's fine. One stamp."

Now it was my turn. I pushed the already-sealed flat rate box across the counter. "I'd like to send this package to this address." I laid down a 3x5 index card with Genius's college address on it. At the dead-mouse-smelling post office, they type up an address sticker. I found that out after I had written Genius's address directly on a flat rate box, in the space they allow for the address. Slap! Covered my fine penmanship with a sticky label. Claude Daigle would have sloshed over in his grave.

Goofus snatched up that index card and had it pinned down with three strips of clear tape before a lamb could give three good tail shakes. Good thing I copied it down at home before I took my trusty index card to town. Then Goofus asked if I wanted to put on a return address. There was no space for that. The upper left corner of the box was taken up by printing about flat rate boxes. "I don't know. I never have before." Goofus looked astounded. "Well, if it gets lost, it will end up in the dead letter facility." Real confident in her company, I guess. Remembering my lost two boxes of books, which have never resurfaced, I agreed to provide a return address. Goofus shoved that box back to me, with a pen. So apparently writing directly on the box is good enough for a return address that you put on top of that box, above the regular address that Goofus had just taped on.

Goofus turned to a customer who had walked in behind me, one whom I had resisted the urge to stare at. She asked the lady for an address for her package. "Wait. Don't you print them out?" Goofus denied that such an event had ever occurred in any post office, anywhere. "You mean it doesn't print a label when you type in the address so I can get my receipt with the tracking number?" Nope. Goofus gave that lady a pen and a piece of paper. And that lady said, magnanimously, like she was queen of the post office, "Oh, you can help her while I'm writing."

HELLO! I was there FIRST, and I had graciously stepped aside to write on my return address! Now I was getting charity from the customer behind me. She might as well have paid it forward like I was some pauper unable to buy my own flat rate.

I gave my package back to Goofus, who had the nerve to ask, in all her Goofusness, "WHICH ADDRESS IS CORRECT?"

No, she wasn't talking about my awkward return address. She meant the street address and the dorm name. I swear. Don't ANY employees of the U.S. Postal Service understand how mail is routed? Seriously. Bottom up. State. Street. Apt or Box or Dorm. Person. Not rocket science. General to specific. Just like taxonomy in science.

But that's not what made her Goofus. I handed her a ten dollar bill for my $5.95 charges. She gave me my receipt showing the tracking number and an arrival date of Wednesday. THEN SHE TURNED AND WALKED INTO THE BACK ROOM!

I just stood there. Looked at my benefactor who had so unselfishly given me time in the middle of her service to complete my transaction. Goofus returned to the counter and looked at me. "Um. Can I have my change, please?"

"Oh. The drawer was open."

AND...? Did that mean I should have hopped the counter and helped myself? Was she testing me to see if I was honest? Was I on closed-circuit camera, with a tactical team waiting to bust me if I approached the drawer? I'm not quite sure what she was getting at. But at least I got my change.

Which, I suppose, does not make her a true Goofus. But she's certainly not Gallant.