Today, on my lunch break, I stood in a labyrinthine line at the post office. It is highly frightening in that line. People break into riots IMMEDIATELY if the person next in line does not IMMEDIATELY respond when the “next available teller” calls out, “Window 5.”
Literally if the person next in line pauses .54 seconds in order to figure out which window is calling, someone in the line will shriek, “NEXT WINDOW! Jeez!!” It’s awful. I want to punch people in the head. I feel like I am supposed to have eyeballs all up and down the side of my body, in order to monitor the situation at each and every window. (It’s a huge post office)
Anyway, I’m standing in line, in my huge sheepskin coat, my shapeless fleece hat, my enormous white wool scarf, my thick tights and my big chunky shoes. (I am only listing my outfit to let you know how lumpy and unfeminine I appeared.) I was already nervous, because my turn to be “next in line” was getting close, and the natives were restless.
Suddenly, this very pretty girl next to me said, “Excuse me … what perfume are you wearing? It is incredible… Is it an aromatherapy blend or something?”
I only wear one perfume, and you can only buy it at one place – a day-spa called Carapan on 16th street. It is “their” perfume, and it is called “Plateau”. Hard to describe the scent, but … let’s just say that this is not the first time a total stranger has asked me about it. It’s not an overwhelming flowery girlie scent at all – it’s very subtle. Like a pine woods, maybe. A man on the bus once turned around and asked me what it was, and then took down the address of Carapan, so that he could go buy some for his girlfriend.
Lately, I have feared that Carapan may be going out of business. I do not know WHAT the hell I will do then.
I have stocked up and bought a couple of bottles, in preparation.
Anyway, I felt like such a huge lump-ette, with my thick tights and fleece hat, and so I was pleased that I actually was recognized as a woman, first of all, and also that I had INFORMATION that somebody might want. This pleases me. Especially if it’s another woman, for some reason. Women are always giving each other helpful tips, like, “Cheap and good manicures at this place on this afternoon…” or “Sample sale up the street from 4 to 6 today…” I never have information like that to give. It’s not my scene.
But damn, I know about this perfume.
I said to her, “You can only get it at Carapan on 16th street…”
She took out her pen.
“It’s in between 5th and 6th … and … I think they may be going out of business … so definitely go soon.”
She was so happy. “Thank you so much!!!”
While this nice little girlie exchange occurred, another window opened, and an absolutely ENRAGED person five slots back in line, roared up at me, “Next window open!” like she wanted to rip my head off and drink my blood, out of sheer rage.
A calm “plateau” of connection shattered. But that’s okay. That’s what it means when you stand in line. You must submit to the energy of the line.
You CAN submit to the energy of the line.
Alternatively, you can march up to the high-strung bitch and rip her tongue out of her throat and stomp on it with your boots right in front of her.
Nobody likes standing in line, but that’s no excuse for rudeness.
The line in that post office stresses me out. People come in there on their lunch break and so want to get in and get out – and yet – 150 other people have the same idea at the same time.
I have barked backwards, over my shoulder, “CHILL OUT” on occasion.
As someone who goes to the post office twice a week, I can understand line impatience. Still, I’d use a gentle tone of voice and an “excuse me”.
If you had gone up to the lady and yelled “I used to fuck girls like you in prison!” she would have calmed down quickly.
Sid –
Good one. Damn. Can you imagine?
Bill – Life is too short to get all stressed out when you’re standing in a line. I go to the post office twice a week, too, sometimes more times, and just breathe my way through the annoyance. So what that someone pauses 3 seconds to adjust her purse before answering the call of the next teller? It makes me want to pause ON PURPOSE just to make someone behind me blow a gasket.
This post office is enormous, though – with about 13 windows operating at once – so it’s easy for people to get confused and not know where they are supposed to go. So people’s annoyance behind you is even doubly stupid. Because EVERYONE gets confused sometimes.
Dearest: my good friend [Bill Hodge] once told me that he follows the advice once given to his mother: “Always choose the longest line”, whether banks, toll booths or post ofices. love, dad
Dad –
Man. I remember you telling me that. Words to live by.
Thanks.