Post Office

So one of the challenges of living an eighth of the way around the globe from your genetic relations is Christmas presents, not only the selecting of, but the delivery to. So any thoughts of procrastination are driven out by the inborn need to get everything together. And while my Noble Siblings may be understanding about "its in the mail", getting the gifts to my Good Parents are a priority (a sympathy my Noble Sibs will understand and endorse).

So this morning I was up early to get to the Post Office to get their gifts on their way. I brought a book, because if there is one thing about the Post Office in the holiday period, there will be a line.

And such a line. The PO opened at 9, and there was a line of some forty people, queuing politely (the Brits would be SO jealous), curling around the outer office. There was despair among the peoples. And then technology rode to the rescue.

A polite young postmistress came out and pointed out that there was package-mailing kiosk available there, unattended, in the lobby, and if anyone was interested, she would walk them through the process. Like suspicious great apes, none of the patrons budged from their line, save for one woman with a package. And I got in line behind HER.

And for all of the complaints about modern tech, whoever programmed the automated postal center did a bang-up job. The menus were clear, the information they asked for was easily understood, and the buttons on the touch-screen were big enough for hands not used to text messaging. In ten minutes, I was out the door, my parental presents on their way.

Dealing with Post Office is one of the challenges of the holiday season, and full marks to the Post Office for making it less so.

Of course, I got home, and realized that I left the BOOK I brought behind on top of the machine, and had to go back, but that is hardly the Post Office's fault.

More later,