My postcards still aren't sent

By Kay H. Wilson

What do ya gotta do to mail a postcard in this town?

A while back I wrote about postcards never mailed. You know the ones you buy on vacation with all good intentions of mailing them to folks back home? But that you end up carrying home and can't stand to throw them away because they are so pretty or cool or memorable or reminiscent of good times, etc.?

This year I thought of a great thing to do with some of them. I wrote out 23 or so "gratitude" cards, planning to send my loved ones and people I admired best wishes for a great 2012 and letting them know how much they meant to me. I even tried to tie the picture or message of the postcard in to some personal link between us. Pretty dang cool if you ask me.

But can you buy a postcard stamp in this town? Hell, no; I've tried. First I went to my neighborhood post office, stood in line for 20 minutes because somebody somewhere who probably has a clerk to go buy their stamps, and by the way, would never think of exhibiting gratitude to people in their life,  thinks we need to get rid of postal employees.

When I finally got to the teller, she wasn't sure how much postcard stamps were: 20 cents or 29 cents. She decided upon 20 cents and she didn't have any. Really? This is a post office, where, often, people buy stamps.

Then I dashed by Clay Street one morning on my way to work and didn't have time to wait in a line of 15 people and left.

I thought I'd save myself some grief and call before I went to the post office on Clay Street again. I went to USPS.com on line to find their phone number. Can you get a local phone number? No, but you can sit through 10 or 15 minutes of automated "service."

I don't mind automated service; really, I don't want to talk to you any more than you want to talk to me. I just want information that I can use — give me a box to write my question.

So I took my chances and went over to Clay Street without knowing the end result (though the cynic in me had a feeling about said result). Well, the lady at my neighborhood post office was wrong — postcard stamps are 29 cents according to Clay Street. And guess what? They didn't have any. 

So, in the future, if you're someone I love or admire and I start getting all sloppy about how much you mean to me: complain to the post office.

Yours in hope and cynicism,
The Compassionate Curmudgeon

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