Kiss My Knits!

So today I went to mail a Jayne hat overseas. (Katy, TX, if you’re reading, your hat is on the needles.) I prefer to take my stuff up to the local post office, as those guys are really on the ball and make things extremely easy. All the clerks know me. We joke around. One guy even saves candy for Emily. It’s very “Mayberry.”

Now, as my lovable clerks have explained the regulations to me, if the package is under 13 ounces, no customs form is required. I haven’t had anything returned or not delivered yet, so I figure that must be true.

But now there’s a new guy. New guy likes to follow the regs. He still wants to be a joking kind of guy like the rest of them, but every time I get to his window, he’s clearly soooo nervous about not putting that customs form on there. So all right, I don’t want to give this guy a panic attack, I’ll fill out the form. Except that I didn’t notice until AFTER the transaction that he had put the weight down under “commercial” on the form even though I always put the weight down under “gift.” (I know how much these weigh by feel, I don’t need the clerks to weigh them for me. It’s my superpower.) So now I’m paranoid that the package will get where it’s going and the clerk on that end will see the commercial weight and decide the recipient has to pay some kind of tariff.

New guy, why don’t you just listen to the guy next to you behind the desk? He knows what he’s talking about. Why must you make my life harder? And why, WHY did you reach out with the manila envelope I was mailing and pop me on the top of the head like a bad puppy or recalcitrant child?

I am not making that up. He actually hit me on the top of the head with a piece of my own mail.

Did I mention that all the good clerks have, at the same time, been “bid out” and are going to other far-flung locations? I’m going to have a whole new crew to train.

GAH! This is making me nuts! I HATE it when stuff doesn’t go right with my Jaynes. There’s really nothing I can do about it until the hat actually gets where it’s going, but it’s going to cause me no end of worry until it does. Grr.

The moral of the story is, as always, “if everybody just listened to me, all life’s problems would be solved.”