THE MAIL NAZI

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Thanks to Jerry Seinfeld, we now have a point of reference with things in life. If you are a fan, you remember the ‘Soup Nazi’, who made the best soups, with great passion, but no love for his clientele. You did it right when purchasing his soups or: “NO SOUP FOR YOU!”

Years ago, we had a gas station that was run by a swarthy looking individual with a heavy accent, his beard always dark, along with his attitude. You had to pull up to the pump a certain distance from the pumps both from the side and distance past the pump. And make sure you had your money ready to pay.

So, the other day I went to the post office to mail a package. Entering the clerk’s section, there is a lady behind the counter who looked like she was sitting. Her nose barely sat over the counter, her short black hair combed back and her mood in the unhappy mode.

“CAN I HELP YOU?” Her voice in full beaurocratic authority and contempt, she eyed me with almost suspicion, annoyance and impatience.

This skinny little lady, probably about 98 pounds soaking wet, to my great surprise was standing behind the counter. I walk up to her with the box in my hand, her voice having cut through me, the box shaking in my hand.

Meekly I tell her I want to mail the package to California, and I have the wrong shipping label in my hand, could she help me?

“Well, you’ll never get this package there with THAT label! I’ll get the proper label for you, you then go over to that table and fill it out, THEN we’ll mail the package.”

She had the air of a cross between my witchy first grade teacher, old Miss Langon, and a Nazi concentration camp guard with a whip and a big stick, along with a hungry, beaten German shepherd.

Completing the label, and checking it twice, (Old Miss Langon always demanded we check our work or else) I hand the iron maiden the label and box, which she inspects, while the whole world freezes in anticipation. Slowly her head rises from the deep concentration and slowly looks into my eyes. I am ready for my execution, I must have done something wrong, I’m going to get it!

“Is that debit or credit?”

I had passed the scrutiny, I will not be reduce to a sniveling wreck, bereft of all self worth, I had made out the label correctly. Suddenly the weight of the world seemed to release itself from my shoulders. Yes, there is a God!

Miss Langon, thank you for preparing me for this moment of triumph and self-worth.

The Princess of Foxwoods Points

A SPECIAL HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO A DENIZEN OF THE WANNA-BE-BANK & TRUSS CO.,

PATRIZIA WEIPPERT! 

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!