The post office is tiny and we pack in the room as orderly as possible. Forget personal space, this is where we get comfortable with each other. A single file curve begins four feet back from the front desk. You can't help but hear and the workers like to entertain. It is not a bad experience. At times I like to imagine it is my own little mail room and I stand silent with coworkers.
Until the other day when a woman spoke. I guess to some one though the room is so small. It wasn't as if she was screaming or even sounded mad, just aggravated I'd say.
I can't stand this place. I'm not from around here. I'm from up north. There was no southern drawl.
I smiled and waited, looked around the room. One person started to giggle which led to another and so on and so forth until one guy, the clown, said in the sweetest, most sincere you can get, Well we are so sorry. We hope you're able to get back soon.
And everyone started laughing, a good, hearty laughter but not mean. The woman began to smile. She tried to apologize but it was too late and she couldn't take it back so she just blushed. Plus, what felt satisfying about the moment was it was okay. Nobody got defensive, wished her any harm. We all just hoped for her the best no matter where she went.
It was good to be a part of that.
Today I am grateful for this town, these people who for the last few months have been my fictional coworkers. Though there will be other mail rooms I am sure, I think at times I may miss this one.