Today's anecdote concerns a trip to the post office, which was consequently followed by a number of other surreal events. But the main event, so to speak, happened in that place where packages get shipped, postcards sent, and people usually wait in line... usually.
You see, I was waiting my turn at the front of the cue when one of the clerks asked the next person, that's me, to step over to where she was. The counters in front of where I'd been patiently hanging out were marked for mail. Behind the counter and over to the side a little was a slightly older clerk who'd just motioned for me to come over to the parcel section. Okay.
Just as I stepped sideways and was about to slide forward, a sixty-something fellow who was probably no stranger to hard work, judging by his stout frame and unpolished demeanor, stepped over to where I was headed and began to ask a question.
He was kind of leaning in while making that, "It's okay, I just need something" kind flick-wave without even bothering to look in my direction. The clerk politely told him to wait, but he didn't listen in his overriding-request mode.
The clerk looked both pissed-off and apologetic.
