Something to be Said
by Lad Moore
I love small towns. They make me feel so far removed from the awful events of September eleventh.
Yesterday, I prepared three packages to mail internationally. Two were going to Canada, and one to the United Kingdom. All three required a return self-addressed envelope with International Reply Coupons. I went to the local post office to obtain the coupons and finish the mailings.
U.S. Post Office, Woodley TX, Population 183
Anna, the postmistress, greeted me in her usual way -- an arcing, howdy-wave. She was eating a Snickers bar, while Judge Judy screamed at somebody on the rabbit-eared TV behind the counter.
"International what? Hun, I never heard of such," she said. "What in creation would you do with one?"
I explained their purpose.
"Well, we've never had a call for such," she said. "I wouldn't know anything about them, let alone know how to use them, so it's likely we won't ever have any. You can try over to the Jesperson Post Office. They're bigger, but mind you they close at four." My watch read 3:20 p.m.
U.S. Post Office, Jesperson TX, Population 2,960
I arrived at 3:44, breathing hard from trotting through the parking lot with the parcels in my arms.
The clerk, a stout woman about fifty, listened as I explained what I wanted. Her level of attentiveness was assured, because she stared at me the whole time over the wire rims of her glasses.
"Humm," she said. "I've heard of those, I think. Hey, Carl! Don't we have them foreign stamp things?"
Carl replied, "I think that's what those yellow slips in the safe are. We've had 'em for a spell, though." Carl was busy trying to decide where to put stamps on a tubular package big enough to contain a set of beginner's water skis. "Get one of them out of the safe and show it to him," he said, never looking up from his task.
The woman returned a few minutes later, rubbing the coupon on her sleeve so as to slick it up.
"Is this what you want? This old thing? Look at all that foreign writing on it. Don't ask me to interpret all that stuff. Is that French, or what? Hey, Carl! This thing is marked $1.05. Is that an old price? Is that what we still charge?
"Postage went up a smidgen," she explained, with a smile intended to prepare me for the four or five-cent hike that was likely coming.
Carl answered from behind the giant package: "Sell it to him for $1.05, if he wants it, I don't know the price." He placed the ski package into a cart and took charge of the woman's position at the counter.
"Okay, next customer. Please sir, you'll need to step aside so other folks in line can tend to their business before we close." Carl waved his hand to restart the stalled traffic behind me.
"Okay, glad to," I said, suddenly feeling humble. I moved to the far end of the counter amidst frowns and curious stares from the other patrons.
"I'll need three of them," I shouted to the woman, as she disappeared behind the brown, burlap curtain concealing the safe. "Wait," I said. "Better give me six, so next time I won't need to drive way over here. They don't have them over at Woodley."
Soon she returned, buffing the coupons on her sleeve again. "They've been in our safe forever, but anyway, we only have two. I guess you can have them both, and then we'll be done with them."
I took her remark to mean there would be no restocking of the safe. I thought carefully about which two of the packages should get the coupons.
The third recipient would have to be happy with good old USA cash, as I placed a dollar and a nickel inside the return envelope. Maybe the person opening the package in the UK would note my Jesperson, TX cancellation stamp and somehow understand. I know that Tony Blair and those folks are our friends.
~Lad Moore