Going Postal

December 20, Saturday morning, at the Appleton post office. On the way to the airport, dropping off a package to mail to Australia, too late to get there by Christmas but probably in time to be there by New Year's.

The woman behind the counter is affixing customs forms and metered postage and I say, to make small conversation, "So, you have been really busy today?"

She looks up with a rueful gaze.

I nod.

She says, "They were here when we opened. It comes in spurts, but we had 13 when we opened this morning." She looks up, "Now there's only three, but still."

"I suppose it's better than the alternative!" I say brightly, echoing news reports of retail sales being down and a conversation with an employee at the guitar shop who said he's seen this kind of thing before, it comes and goes, it's down, but later it will be up, and what I mean is that if she's busy, it means people are shopping and buying presents and so the economy will probably do well this season, despite the recent woes and worries.

She says, "I just feel so bad! I mean, you just want to help people, you don't want them to have to stand there..."

My mind flashes back to the Surry Hills post office, in the back of the building with the Coles, and how every minute of every day, no matter when you drop by, there are 15, 20, 25 people in line, wrapping awkwardly around the stand of greeting cards so the last person doesn't keep making the automatic doors open, ignoring the people talking or yelling or singing to themselves, keeping distance from the smelly aging bachelor in front of you, waiting and waiting as people dispute power bills or present library books they want to fax or filling out customs forms for packages whose addresses are written all in Chinese.

Wisconsin postal workers must be unlike postal workers anywhere else in the world. "You just want to help people!" Imagine it.