Are You Freaking Kidding Me: Stamps

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Today, yet again, I tried to get stamps for our holiday cards, and once again, I failed. As soon as the baby woke up from his nap, I changed his diaper, put him in the carrier and walked straight down to the post office. The postal worker closed the door in my face and locked it. (It was the grumpy guy that I hate anyway, so I'm not too surprised by his behavior.)

At this point, I was still determined to get the stamps. I just turned right around and headed back home. I didn't even go into my apartment, I just loaded us into the car and drove to the main post office. The parking lot was packed, but I got the last space left. Score!

I went in and the line was all the way to the door. No problem, I thought, I planned on using the automated postal machine anyway since I only needed stamps. There was only one lady in front of me. She was printing labels for packages, many, many packages. Whatever, I thought, it's still faster than the line for actual humans.

Fifteen minutes later, when my arm was about to fall off from holding my giant baby I'm staring daggers into the back of this lady's skull. Dude, don't you know I only need to buy stamps? Why is this taking you so long? A line has formed behind me and I'm long past regretting not bringing the baby carrier in with me.

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Finally, after a kabillion more years, she finishes printing all her shipping labels. Her tag is sticking out of her shirt and I think this is her karma for not being efficient with the machine. I step up and select the buy stamps option and hit the continue button. It gives me an option to buy one little printout sticker label for a first class letter. I think I must have selected the wrong option and go back. I want normal books of stamps, not weird bar code thingies. But no, somehow there is no option for a book of stamps. Really?! Really?!

Between the two post offices, I've been trying to buy stamps for almost an hour. With a heavy heart, I step away from the machine and get in line, which is now out the door, for a cashier. Another customer swings the door hard and it almost hits my baby in the head. I stopped it with my foot at the very last second. Merry Christmas to you too, A------.

The line isn't moving. My arms are burning as I futilely pass my child from the left to the right back to the left again, trying to get him in a more comfortable hold. We wait and wait and wait. I keep whispering in his ear, "You're doing such a great job, Buddy. Thanks for being my patient helper. We're going to be done soon." He doesn't understand what I'm saying, but I feel like we both need the encouragement.

He takes a long look all around the post office, then looks up at me with his big blue eyes and silently barfs all over both of us. Message received. We'll go home now.

And today is the day I'll remember as the time my seven month old had more sense than any of us adults. He knew we were all going to die waiting in that post office like we were in some existential French play. At the time I felt relieved to give up and go home, but now, typing this, I realize I still have a stack of cards and no stamps and I'm going to have to face the post office all over again. Ho, ho, ho, humbug.