It Looked Different on the Model - Laurie Notaro [12]
But I loved the fact that it had a post office, because it was so close by. At the time, I was sending out a lot of mail—stickers and magnets that I shipped off to Idiot Girls around the country—and had a backlog I needed to conquer from the months my stuff was in storage.
Unfortunately, during that lapse, the post office had a two-cent rate hike, which meant that I needed to invest in additional postage. I headed off to my new satellite post office inside the drugstore and waited at the end of a long, long line.
When it was my turn at the counter, I stepped up and smiled at the lady behind it.
She smiled back.
I needed four hundred two-cent stamps. So I asked for four hundred two-cent stamps.
The post office lady looked at me like I had just asked her if she wanted to buy my sex tape. In fact, she actually gasped.
“Oh, no,” she told me, shaking her head vigorously. “I can’t give you that. Absolutely not.”
To be honest, I didn’t say anything, because I didn’t have anything to say. I did this all the time in Phoenix. One time I bought six hundred stamps, and the post office guy didn’t even look at me, let alone challenge me to a standoff and act as if I had pantomimed a lewd gesture.
“So, wait,” I replied, trying to process it, then a moment later arriving at the most obvious conclusion. “Oh, you don’t have four hundred?”
“Sure I have four hundred,” she replied. “But if I give you four hundred, then there won’t be as many left for the next person who wants two-cent stamps.”
Again, I stood there for a moment, attempting to act like a Bounty paper towel and absorb. But it wasn’t working. Asininity was puddling all around me in quantities too vast to soak up.
I tried to appeal to her work ethic as a government employee and replied, “Well, I have to mail out four hundred envelopes and I need four hundred stamps.”
Without missing a beat, she churlishly snapped, “Well, you can’t take them all for yourself! Someone else might need some, and if I give them all to you, then I have to order more from the post office.”
“But you are the post office,” I tried to reason, getting frustrated. “What does it matter if I take all four hundred or if I take two hundred and the guy behind me then asks for two hundred? You’ll still have to order them.”
Then the surly came out. “No,” she informed me firmly. “I won’t do it. I’ll give you two hundred and that’s all. You can’t have them all. No.”
Quickly I weighed my options, which I quickly discovered were none. Our negotiations had hit a wall, and I was well aware that I possessed less than no power in this situation. Suddenly, however, the dastardly department of my personality presented two plans, one of which involved dynamite, mustache wax, some rope, and train tracks (all found in aisle seven), which I rejected due to financial investment, and another, much more sinister option, which I accepted.
“Okay,” I said with a wide smile. “I’ll take two hundred. Thank you very much.”
The post office lady got a very satisfied look on her face, cooled her demeanor a bit, and slid the two hundred stamps across the counter as I, in turn, slid her my four dollars. I put my cache in my purse, smiled politely, and walked away. The wheels of the sinister plan moved forward. There was no turning back.
And then I returned the next day.
I boldly stood in line and waited my turn patiently, and when the time had come, I stepped up to the counter and said