GOING POSTAL

 From Wikipedia: Going postal is an American English slang phrase referring to becoming extremely and uncontrollably angry, often to the point of violence, and usually in a workplace environment. The expression derives from a series of incidents from 1986 onward in which United States Postal Service (USPS) workers shot and killed managers, fellow workers, police officers and members of the general public in acts of mass murder. Between 1970 and 1997, more than 40 people were killed by then-current or former employees in at least 20 incidents of workplace rage. Between 1986 and 2011, workplace shootings happened roughly twice per year, with an average of 1.18 people killed per year.

 

 You don’t hear the term much anymore. I think this is because the Postal Service realized they were hiring the wrong type of personality in the 1980’s. Civil servants were educated, thought for themselves, and were rewarded by being beaten down, driven to the point of murder/suicide by the mismanagement of this massive pseudo government agency. The workers snapped and went on murderous rampages, hence the term. Anybody who’s ever been to the post office can sympathize. Nobody could blame them. So, the agency began to steadily lower it’s standards and expectations to the degree that tiny computers now do all the “thinking” and the employees are allowed to remain in a mind-numbing Oxy-Prozac stupor for their 8 hr. shift…….. with bennies. Welcome to the 21^st century mail delivery system.

 

It's no longer the postal worker “going postal,” but the postal customer (me). Let me give you some background. I get my mail at a post office about as big as a UPS truck. It’s intimate and most times (depending on the temporary help) pleasant. When I first moved to the area my house and church didn’t even have a street address. I asked about mail delivery and was told that the postal truck did not go down my road. Also, I could not get home delivery for a house with no street address. Catch 22. So, I rented a post office box for $25 per year and got my mail that way. All good.

 

A few years later the 911 Emergency system was mandated, and I got an address. I asked about now putting in a mailbox and once again was informed that would be impossible (huh?). But  they would waive the PO box fee for the inconvenience. Every year I sign a document that lets the powers-that-be in Washington know that I am alive and still living at my house. If I forget to sign the paper, they lock my box and hold my mail hostage until I do. IT’S FUCKIN FREE! WHYYYYYYYYY???? This year I signed the paperwork twice.

 

Today I was expecting a package that contained the new edition of FREE SPIRIT Magazine with Non-Nazi cover. I’d anxiously followed the tracking as the mags crept their way across the U.S. This morning I saw that they were in Wurstboro. I was excited to get them but waited until after 1 pm to go to the post office. That’s when a human arrives.

 

Postal workers come and go in the Glen Wild Post Office on a weekly basis. Most are sullen and inept. You are lucky to get a grunt out of them. When shit goes missing, they shrug it off and turn their backs. This was not the case today. The new GW post mistress Alicia is great. She’s friendly and helpful. When I asked about my magazines, she said that maybe they went out on the route by accident. No problem. She would call, so they didn’t send them back. “Back?” I asked. “To sender.” Well, that would be crazy. “Why would they do that?” I asked. She just smiled. I thanked her and let her handle it.

 

I wasn’t home five minutes before the phone rang. It was Alicia. Great! I was ready to jump in the truck and get my FREE SPIRITS. “I’m sorry sir, they’ve already sent back your package.” She informed me. I tried not to lose my temper. And I succeeded. I knew it wasn’t her fault. She apologized and sympathized with my plight. She was off the hook. I did not feel the same way about the Wurtsboro Post Office. I found the phone # on their website and dialed them up. Here’s some reviews that I read while waiting for them to pick up.

 

 

"Waited almost 45 minutes in their lobby this morning to pay for a money order."

"In the past I have complained because I get other people’s mail."

"This post office is inept, poorly run, and shoul be shut down."

 

I was going to drive down the mountain and confront them but though better of it. Instead, I added my own review as I waited. “A Kafkaesque pit of comical proportions. 30 years -  worthless.” It took a while, but finally they answered. The voice on the other end was human (I think). As anybody who has ever licked a stamp or used Amazon knows sometimes, “they” want a “mailing” address and sometimes “they” want a “street” address. You see my dilemma as a PO user? Some companies use USPS and some use UPS. In a thinking local postal system, they would know Mike Osterhout, who lives at The Church of the Little Green Man at 143 Old Glen Wild Rd. Glen Wild, NY, also gets his mail at the post office OR you could actually recognize a big church with a sign in front of it and drop the package off……even WITHOUT using a mailbox. NO! That would take brain power.

 

All of this I tried to explain to the woman on the phone as she repeatedly told me (like a bot) to “Make sure your PO box # is on every package. We can’t deliver otherwise……” I got hotter and hotter. My voice raised to a crescendo, I finally screamed, “STEP IT THE FUCK UP!” and hung up. So instead of getting my mail (when it was soooooo close) it now goes all the way back across the country, wasting time, effort, fuel, brain cells, etc., etc. …..causing the earth to deteriorate at an accelerated rate, while I go fucking postal. FREE THE EARTH! FREE THE MAIL! Good luck with your mail-in ballots in Nov.