My post office looks like something out of The Waltons. Good night, Jim Bob. Good night, Mary Ellen. It's a little house with hardwood floors and three parking spots out front. (I’ll take a picture eventually, but don’t know when—in these next few busy days—I’ll actually see it in the light of day. So I’ll post without a photograph now and let you know when I add one.) Right next door there is a little general store. Well, they don’t call it that anymore, but it’s a little store with a deli that sells bread and milk and other staples, as well as lottery tickets of course. But I digress. This post is about the United States Postal Service.
On Saturday, when a large part of the United States was crippled by a massive snow storm, I brought a package to my Waltonesque post office, paid $10.35 (“if it fits, it ships”), decided to pay another 70 cents for tracking and confirmation, and went on my way.
And while I haven’t heard from Tamara yet, I know she got the package because—get this—I even got an email from the USPS telling me my package was delivered. Of course I had already gone on line and looked it up because I get excited and impatient that way. But still. Not bad for 11 dollars. No looking for drop boxes in the foyers of Staples stores, or driving all over to find a (brown) store that will actually mail a package without a corporate account.
I [heart] my little post office. And I love the United States Postal Service that can get a package across the country in two days. Not two business days, but two days. In plenty of time for Christmas.