Post offices and I have a rocky history, but as of Wednesday we're mending.
I'm ashamed of the time I turned on my heels, wordless, walked away from a post office clerk and out the door. I was irritated with that post office in Owensboro. It should have had a copier; I thought all of them did. I didn't have time for this. I needed to make a copy of something and mail it, and I'd already crammed a trip there into my suffocating burden of college work. I was convinced the USPS was against me--there were so few post offices around town, and they kept such restricted hours. The job I worked didn't coincide with them, so I'd neatly packaged a fermenting grudge.
Last Monday, I consulted U of L's website to find the post office here. "Only open during normal business hours," it screamed, mockingly. "Cash only." I set out across campus assured that since it wasn't even 4 p.m., it would be open. Of course when I opened the door, the shut windows along the counter laughed at me. Some mischievious little signs snickered that they were open till 3 p.m.
Tuesday morning, I showed the post office up. I bought $9 worth of stamps and successfully mailed a letter to my grandma. I grabbed my backpack and walked out, triumphant.
That night a sudden recollection--or lack of one--dropped on me like a stack of mail for all Louisville Metro: I had left my stamps on the post office counter!
Internally I murmurred some incoherent gibberish about post offices. At first I thought to go to another post office and buy stamps there, to avoid having to look that one in the eyes again. I could go back and ask if they found my stamps, but what are the chances of that? It would be well beneath my dignity.
Then I remembered Proverbs 29:25: "The fear of man brings a snare." I should humble myself, man up and go back. I determined my script. I would say, "Hello, I was in here yesterday. I did something really dumb. I bought $9 worth of stamps, put one on an envelope I was mailing and then left the rest of them." If the clerk treated me like I was stupid (which I expected), I had my cash ready. I would bite the bullet and buy stamps again. If the clerk thought they might have been returned, he or she would then volunteer to look for them (I was too embarrassed to ask for such a favor.) Or, I clutched a childish hope the clerk would know just where they were.
So on Wednesday I walked up to the post office clerk. "Hello, I was in here yesterday. I did something really dumb. I bought a bunch of stamps..."
He was turning toward the counter behind him.
I smiled.
"Here you go," he said cordially, handing my stamps to me. "Somebody turned 'em in. I said, 'I bet he'll be back for those.'" His voice and smile were genuine.
