Going PostalSo I just returned from the post office where I sent off the last of my application materials for the MFA I hope to start in the Fall. Whew!
After standing in line at Planetarium Station down the street for, oh, 20 minutes or so, (There are never short lines for anything in New York) I stepped up to window number 3 with my envelopes and informed the rather large African-American woman behind the glass that I wanted to send my items priority mail. "How are you today?" she said and weighed each envelope, peeling off a Priority Mail sticker and calculating the correct postage. "Fine, thanks," I said.
Having taken note of the addresses on my envelopes, she gave me my total and asked "Who's going to school? That you? You look so young!" (Pshaw, I thought--young indeed!) I giggled in spite of my self and informed the sweet-talking postal worker that "Yes, I'm going back to school, actually," careful to emphasize the "back" to point out just how ancient I am.
"What you going to school for?" she asked.
"Really?" she said almost incredulously then changed direction saying "Well, I wish you all the success!"
"Thanks," I said. I'll take it.
Who says government workers are rude and indifferent?