You're The Next Contestant...

I am an impatient person. I always have been and I probably always will be. If this comes as a surprise to you then I deserve an Oscar. If this is not a surprise to you then you are a family member.  If it wasn't for my mother and being a mother my patience would be zero right now. (There is a DNA issue involved but I won't get into that.) Life has a way of making you less tolerant. As a woman, some days I can be more tolerant than others. On Monday, tolerance was a wasteland.

You know how there are some establishments you go to where something always goes wrong? These are places you try to avoid at all costs or only under certain conditions. I have only a few, which is good, but it seems my optimistic cheery attitude usually comes back to haunt me. "This time it will be better," I say to myself. "Last time was a fluke," I assure myself as I trustfully walk into an impending situation.

I was running errands with my oldest son earlier this week. He had an orthodontist appointment and I was trying to check off as many things on my list beforehand. This is my problem. I am always trying to beat the clock instead of letting life wash over me. It is like I am on the Price is Right and its the game where you have to put the dollar amounts in front of the right prize. Once the amounts are in place the contestant must pull the lever to see how many they got right and fix the ones they suspect are wrong before time runs out.

I had to go to the post office and due to proximity I went to a branch where I usually encounter lines and frustration. Today my little voice said, "Things will be different. Don't you worry. You've got 20 minutes until the appointment, you got this." With a smile and a song I walked through the doors. I would walk out 20 minutes later with a need for Prilosec or something you take for high blood pressure.

Three people waiting on customers and only one person in front of me. "This is great," I thought. "Whew, I would be in and out." But as I thoroughly observed the situation the people being waited on had numerous packages to mail and an adult person wearing a pink winter hat with bunny ears needed help locating additional tape. When there was an open window I still had a few minutes to spare. I was ready to step forward with my package but the attendant had to organize the bins right at that moment. I thought she was going to wait on me but there I stood there waiting patiently on the outside but going a little crazy on the inside.

Of course I get the question, "Am I mailing anything hazardous, perishable or liquid?" No, but my patience had died and my blood was boiling so I guess it was good that I wasn't getting overnighted to Alameda. My package was a defective item that needed to be returned so I was already perturbed. My payment screen came up with a number of options ranging in price from $15 to $3. I thought all of these were mine for the choosing. I repeated myself twice that I wanted the cheapest possible. The attendant continued to explain my options, which on any other day would have been considered helpful, but today were   slicing away at the sliver of patience available for this transaction.

 I say, "I want the $2.94 Library Mail option."

The attendant asks me if I am a library.  As if I, a human person standing there, am a building.

"Are you a library?"

I wanted to yell. I wanted to recreate a scene straight from Seinfeld using Jerry's voice.

"Lady, do I look like a library? And what is with all these choices if the only one I can choose is the one you tell me to?"

 I did not know the shipping options along with 'priority' and 'next day' included names for categories of things you could be mailing.  I did not make this connection until I chose the next cheapest 'Media Mail' and the attendant said if you are not mailing media this option does not apply to you. There was a form included with the item explaining the defect, couldn't that be considered media? "Then why is it on the screen," I wanted to ask.

At this  point I was mad and I was talking like a ventriloquist with my teeth clinched in a forced smile trying to be polite fighting back my inner rage. This was my fault. I was short on time and the attendant was only doing his/her job but my internal struggle was real. I have worked in customer service and I am very conscious to not be rude when dealing with people. In retrospect I was not rude, I was not overly polite, but I was not rude.

I left the post office older than I was when I went in. I vented to my son who did a funny voice and made me laugh.

I need to stop trying to beat the clock. I am not going to win a brand new car whether or not I get everything done. So next time I have that urge I am going to ask myself this important question,

"Are you a library?"