Gripe Of The Day

"Don't Stand So Close To Me"

Not just a song by The Police! I mean it. Get away from me. Stop invading my personal space. You're crowding me, and you smell like stale cigarette smoke and dirty feet. Get away!

Tuesday afternoon I had to stop at the post office in town to mail a package that I had promised to send a while ago.

That's when the trouble began.

After getting my hair cut and stopping by to drop something off at my parents' house, I came through town, rather than taking the back roads, so that I could make what I thought would be a quick stop at the post office.

So, first of all, there's someone getting a passport and taking up the time of one of the two clerks, and the other clerk is dealing with a guy who was sending four or five little bitty boxes, and apparently HAD TO pay for them each individually, or some other such nonsense.

There's a woman in front of me with a blue and yellow jacket on, and from the looks of her she could (and maybe should) be playing as a defensive end for the Bears. I step into line behind her, and another woman walks up to where I'm standing. There are no other people in the lobby yet.

For some inexplicable reason, the woman behind me feels it is necessary to stand directly behind me.

Seriously. She was a few inches away. Had I swung my elbow back, I'd have knocked the wind out of her quite handily. (No, of course I wouldn't actually DO that. Did it cross my mind? Yes.)

What's the point? No, really. What exactly is the point? Is it like the "red light principle" where if you crowd the bumper of the car in front of you, the light will magically change and traffic will cease to exist? [sarcasm]

So, now the line is getting longer, and I guess the woman behind me had somewhere to be, because she crept a little bit closer to me.

The clerks are still dealing with passport-girl and bitty-box-man. There are two other post office employees, but they are milling about like members of an ant farm, moving boxes to and fro, with no obvious purpose. Neither acknowledges the growing line in the lobby.

More people enter the post office lobby.

The creeper-woman creeps closer.

I feel like I'm in some kind of weird slow motion horror movie, and a clown with a machette may pop out of a mailbox at any moment and start hacking everyone to bits. (if one does, I'm going to duck and let him slash the creeper-woman behind me...although, in another moment, she might actually be in front of me.)

I stand with my weight on one foot, leaning away from the creeper-woman, but the stale cigarette reek is still obvious. Ew.

More people come into the post office lobby. Someone says, "wow, there is just NO sense of urgency here, is there?"

Bitty-box-man is done and linebacker-woman moves up to the clerk. I step in front of the lobby supply counter and lean back against it, so that creeper-woman cannot crowd any closer to me.

Then it's finally my turn. I'm done and out the door in less than 30 seconds. I never look back at creeper-woman. Glad she's gone. Ew.

p.s.
I hope the clown got her.