Post office purgatory
If I'm not careful, this blog is going to turn into nothing but pictures of parking lots in Rochester—pieces of "the Game Board," as my father would say. This one is Loehmann's Plaza, outside the post office; Allison is inside mailing her mother a present for her birthday. We've been to this post office several times in the past two months, and it's always a hassle. Allison seems to get the same condescending, defiantly unhelpful clerk every time, the one who a few days before Christmas told Allison she had to buy tape for her boxes, that it's "never free," which we told her was ridiculous and untrue, that we'd been to post offices all over the country recently and tape most certainly was free at some of them, most of them even, possibly ALL of them except this stupid one. Then a few weeks ago, we went back to look for a package that was supposed to have been delivered to the house on Laburnam Crescent but never arrived, only to have the same lady tell us that packages are never (her favorite word, apparently) shipped to that location, that we'd have to call one of the other locations, but that "no one will answer the phone there."
I was sure Allison was going to get the same clerk today: There she was on the left, squinting through thick eyeglasses at the helpless line before her, but we got lucky, and when it was Allison's turn, our mousy, mean-spirited nemesis was busy thwarting some other customer, and Allison was able to get her package mailed off without a hitch. We will pray it doesn't get lost in the mail.