I really hate Napoleon.
Napoleon and I have a pretty good understanding of each other. I go in and ship all my packages via media mail and he presses the label on the package with insincerity and gloom. Lately, I've switched up the formula to sending books 1st class which cost me an extra $.35 but I figure its worth it.
It bears repeating that I loathe the post office. Maybe even more so than Wal*Mart or the DMV. I guess its because the post office is full of indecision and guesswork making every visit 3 times longer than it should be. Its even more bothersome to wait in a line of 9 people only to have 6 of them purchasing stamps and paying for them with a check or loose change hidden deep in the recesses of pockets or purses. And I find myself longing for the day when the phrase "Who do I make this check out to?" becomes a distant memory of "remember when".
Napoleon seems to always be my cashier at my local post office. I use to enjoy seeing him because he looks so interesting and anyone with a name like Napoleon definitely has secrets buried just underneath the surface. But Napoleon is guarded and exacting. Our exchanges are always business-like. I try to work in some small talk, but Napoleon has none of that. One day I hope to get up the nerve to ask where have all his fingernails gone, since he has only one, small nub of one on his right thumb. All his other fingers look like rough knobs of tree roots. He wears his glasses too close to his eyes and he smells of musky grapefruits. And I think it goes without saying that he is short. So short that he needs to stand on a little stepping stool. I wish he were charming and charismatic, but he offers no personhood for me to take up, so I usually regard his presence with dread and annoyance.
Today, Napoleon charged me $22 for just TWO packages. He was curt and unhelpful. He also blatantly lied to me about there being no such thing as flat rate priority shipping. One book I sold (and believe me, it was hard to part with this one) was the History Timetable which was heavy and large, came to a total of $9.99 on my Amazon seller's account. I paid $15.72 to ship it. And I know there was a cheaper way, Napoleon is just sick of me bringing in heavy ass books to ship. The second book I sold I got $17 for. Napoleon charged me $5.67. It should have only cost $2.35, but for some reason Napoleon shipped it priority instead of Media Mail. Motherfucker. I'm not one to freak out on cashiers, but I had to lay it down to him because clearly, this was personal.
"Um, thats really expensive and I don't understand why you are charging me more than you usually do." I said staring at his nubby fingers. "This is standard charge." He said, keenly aware of my gaze. "Come on! You know I'm not expecting to pay this much for shipping! You know I'm in here all the time." I said, leveling with him. "You are?" He asked. I was SO insulted. What, he didn't remember me? That's bullshit! I'm in that motherfucking place almost as much as he is. Plus I'm pretty much an odd demographic in my neighborhood, so I figure I always stand out like a sore thumb. Napoleon was clearly lying to me and, call me sensitive, but I think he was totally trying to hurt my feelings.
To top things off, he didn't put my Netflix in the to-ship box, instead he let it sit by him next to his tape dispenser. I hate that he did that. If he remembered from my last visit earlier in the week, I'm addicted to Six Feet Under and I'm trying to get my Netflix turned around ASAP so I can finish the series. So I have a feeling that disc isn't going to ship out any time soon. Last time I shipped a disc that Napoleon's fingernailless hands were on it, it took 3 days to get back to the shipping center when it normally takes 1. Little jerk.
It bears repeating that I loathe the post office. Maybe even more so than Wal*Mart or the DMV. I guess its because the post office is full of indecision and guesswork making every visit 3 times longer than it should be. Its even more bothersome to wait in a line of 9 people only to have 6 of them purchasing stamps and paying for them with a check or loose change hidden deep in the recesses of pockets or purses. And I find myself longing for the day when the phrase "Who do I make this check out to?" becomes a distant memory of "remember when".
Napoleon seems to always be my cashier at my local post office. I use to enjoy seeing him because he looks so interesting and anyone with a name like Napoleon definitely has secrets buried just underneath the surface. But Napoleon is guarded and exacting. Our exchanges are always business-like. I try to work in some small talk, but Napoleon has none of that. One day I hope to get up the nerve to ask where have all his fingernails gone, since he has only one, small nub of one on his right thumb. All his other fingers look like rough knobs of tree roots. He wears his glasses too close to his eyes and he smells of musky grapefruits. And I think it goes without saying that he is short. So short that he needs to stand on a little stepping stool. I wish he were charming and charismatic, but he offers no personhood for me to take up, so I usually regard his presence with dread and annoyance.
Today, Napoleon charged me $22 for just TWO packages. He was curt and unhelpful. He also blatantly lied to me about there being no such thing as flat rate priority shipping. One book I sold (and believe me, it was hard to part with this one) was the History Timetable which was heavy and large, came to a total of $9.99 on my Amazon seller's account. I paid $15.72 to ship it. And I know there was a cheaper way, Napoleon is just sick of me bringing in heavy ass books to ship. The second book I sold I got $17 for. Napoleon charged me $5.67. It should have only cost $2.35, but for some reason Napoleon shipped it priority instead of Media Mail. Motherfucker. I'm not one to freak out on cashiers, but I had to lay it down to him because clearly, this was personal.
"Um, thats really expensive and I don't understand why you are charging me more than you usually do." I said staring at his nubby fingers. "This is standard charge." He said, keenly aware of my gaze. "Come on! You know I'm not expecting to pay this much for shipping! You know I'm in here all the time." I said, leveling with him. "You are?" He asked. I was SO insulted. What, he didn't remember me? That's bullshit! I'm in that motherfucking place almost as much as he is. Plus I'm pretty much an odd demographic in my neighborhood, so I figure I always stand out like a sore thumb. Napoleon was clearly lying to me and, call me sensitive, but I think he was totally trying to hurt my feelings.
To top things off, he didn't put my Netflix in the to-ship box, instead he let it sit by him next to his tape dispenser. I hate that he did that. If he remembered from my last visit earlier in the week, I'm addicted to Six Feet Under and I'm trying to get my Netflix turned around ASAP so I can finish the series. So I have a feeling that disc isn't going to ship out any time soon. Last time I shipped a disc that Napoleon's fingernailless hands were on it, it took 3 days to get back to the shipping center when it normally takes 1. Little jerk.