A day at the Post Office
April 2003
by Jason Thornberry

I deal with assholes at the post office all the time. No, not the employees, but my fellow customers, who rant about having to be in line, exhale loudly when it's still not their turn after two whole minutes, and utter embarrassing things about the people around them.

"At least I don't have to worry about going to war anymore", said a fifty-something fat man with greasy hair in a segmented ponytail. He looked at the young girl sitting and programming her cell phone. She was Middle Eastern, and she had on a simple dress, faded henna painted on her hands, glasses, and a hijab (headwrap). Nearly everyone who came in, took a number, glanced over at her, and then stepped back.

I went over and sat next to the girl, to see if I could hear any comments from her position. No one else would sit with us. Seven people were crammed onto the long bench parallel, but ours was nearly empty. Everyone else stood around, leaning, bouncing from foot to foot, and going through their own pockets.

"They must hire monkeys to be here", said a gent armed with a metal lunch pail and a ring of keys swaying from his belt. One of the girls behind the counter shrugged, and went about her job showing a tremendously tattooed specimen which corner of his envelope a stamp goes on.

The Tuesday after Presidents Day called out the freaks the same way heavy rains brought armies of ants into my kitchen. A woman had a cell phone in one hand and some of her daughter's hair in the other. "Uh-huh, I'll be in as soon as I get these proofs sent. No, I don't think so", her daughter squealed. "Ashley!"

Beep! "Seven!". The numbers ticked by, the cell phones kept ringing. Some would come in, pull a number, look at the "Now Serving" monitor up in the corner, and loudly huff out, dropping their scrap of paper on the ground. An older woman was smiling kindly us both. Her phone rang, "Hi. Still here. Yeah, still."

A young skater tapped his friend, and they both peered over. They started whispering to each other, while the Middle Eastern girl massaged her eyelids. Finally it was her turn at the counter. I was next.

"I deal with all kinds of people, man. You'd think they'd never been out even in public the way they act some days in here", said the cheery yet sarcastic postal person I went to when my number was called. "I've had people in here that'll expect you to do everything for them. They can't even get the addresses right, and I have to stop them so the item they're sending, like at Christmas, doesn't get mailed back to their house", he laughed. "They act like it's our fault with them having to wait and everything, but we didn't create all this mail!"

I glanced out the windows behind me and saw the girl getting into her car. There were eggshells stuck to the bumper.

(Jason Thornberry is a volunteer staff writer for 2 Walls Webzine)

Response from: Celeste, New York, NY
April 2003

Ignorance and impatience are things we all tend to display and witness from time to time. It was only Monday that I was taking the N Train into Manhattan. I was standing by an exit door, tired and quite possibly on the way to hungover-dom. There was this woman in her mid-forties standing basically across from me, but a little to my right so if I stared straight ahead, I wouldn't be faced with her directly. Her drab sandy blonde hair looked like she has been setting it that way for the past twenty years, short and seemed like she had invisible rollers still in them. Her clothes weren't any more aesthetically pleasing and could very well have been more dull than K Mart fashion of 1991. Once the train started going, I noticed other tired faces on the subway train. And then it happened. It's to be expected of morning commutes in New York. Delays, start-and-stop motion, announcements that are barely audible. Having already entered the subway car, the only thing you can do is wait. It must have taken 30 minutes on what would usually be a 5 minute commute. And if that didn't try your patience enough, this lady kept huffing and puffing, muttering under her breath - but with every stop her comments got louder, "Come on." She repeated like a bratty second grader. You could see the tension on other people's faces grow in dismay of their woman. We were all in the same boat, late for our jobs, appointments, etc. And this woman's impatience wasn't helping. So, ignorance and impatience are everywhere. From delayed subways in New York to racially unconscious waiting rooms in Postal Offices in Long Beach. The best we can do is to do our best.

Response from: Wes Royer, Williamburg, VA
April 2003

It is so hard for me to believe that U.S. citizens STILL have to generalize, stereotype, and even humillify a person because of their ethnic background. I grew up in Northern VA, part of the Washington DC area and an overcrowded suburban area peacefully lived in by all walks of life. Yet, in many cities and small towns, whites, Spanish, and blacks treat ALL Muslims as though they are natural terrorists. Ignorance is the true cause of wars, whether military wars or cultural indiscretions. And ignorance is simply a PC word for stupid, uneducated and narrowminded. For the record, I am as white as it gets, but making the woman in this story feel like everybody's greatest enemy is unfair, unwarranted, and just plain disgusting. The only people that deserve such treatment are proven criminals/terrorists and the people in this story that acted like complete imbeciles and, frankly, asses.

(Jason Thornberry is a volunteer staff writer for 2 Walls Webzine)