Thank you?

I ordered a Christmas present from Etsy, but that was a mistake because turns out it was in Guatemala or some place, so it wasn't delivered until January 11th.  Or at least the delivery ATTEMPT wasn't made until January 11th.  Because we weren't home, they left me a note that I had to go pick it up at the post office, which I feel is wrong because the whole point of ordering on-line is that they deliver it to your house. 

If I wanted to leave my house I'd take up yoga. 

Still, I'd paid for this thing, and even though it was largely irrelevant at this point, I decided today to actually go get it. 

For some reason, it was at a post office in downtown Cleveland and I have to say this was a gorgeous old building.  I had plenty of time to check it out as I waited for the Angry Human Sloth to finish with the people ahead of me. 

When it was my turn, I approached the window with a winning smile, and showed her my package slip. 

"ID?" she says, which is fair enough, except that she said it in a way that made it clear that she hated me. 

I gave her my ID, and she checked it, then turned and . . . I want to say "ambled?" But that is a lot more cheerful than what she did.  I want to say "slogged" but that is a lot more determined than what she did.  She clearly hated both me and mail, and, wanted me to know that, honestly, she didn't care if she ever found my package, but some part of her knew she was going to find my package and knew she was going to have to give it to me, and that just made her hate me more. 

Me and the four people behind me descend into an awkward dead silence.  For a while, the guy behind me, apparently from some friendly southern place, had been loudly astounded that people live here, in such a cold place with no pens available at the Post Office.  His wife shushed him though, so we all just stood there quietly. 

Eventually, she came back.  She looks me dead in the eye and said, "I should have closed this window a half hour ago." 

I genuinely thought she was referring to her computer, but then it dawned at me that I was standing at her window and she was telling me she wished I wasn't.

"I've got a job to do, you know."

Yes?  Ostensibly the duties include tasks very much like giving me the package you still have clutched in your hands?

"There's mail piling up back here."

So you could let me do my part to clear it up by handing me that package?

"I should have closed this window a half hour ago."

Yes, you said, but also, to clarify, this is the only open window and I don't really see how that would work.

"I was just trying to be nice."

See, but it doesn't really feel like that right now.

She stares at me for a minute, waiting.  This whole time I've been so confused about this conversation that I haven't done anything but nod. 

"I'm sorry?" I say, because she has not yet moved to give me the package and I think I must start carrying my weight in this conversation if this is going to continue.

She nods - my apology apparently sufficient to move this exchange forward - and puts the package in the pass-through.  I reach to take it, but she puts a finger on one corner of the package, holding it down. 

"You're lucky I was feeling nice."

I mean, I guess?  But also, the Post Office is open?  I checked the hours?  And this is the only window?  Is this included in the Government shut-down?  Is she just here volunteering?  Because otherwise, isn't it normal to assume that someone will be available at an open establishment? 

"Thank you?"

She nodded, taking her finger off the envelope. 

I turn to go, looking at the 10-odd people who have amassed behind me, and prayed that God would have mercy on their souls.