Special Delivery

Two houses ago, our abode was very close to what can only be described as a local post office. Where the counter staff remembered you and there was always a conversation going amongst everyone in the place. I realized how familiar I’d become one day when I was treated to some post office tales. And what tales they were...

It all started when I was in line at the PO, waiting my turn to get postage put on a whole stack of mailables. As I stood there, a bit lost in my own thoughts, another regular customer asked the post office dude behind the counter if there was a public restroom available.

The answer: a resounding no.

But that was all it took to start the stories coming. As it turned out, that both folks working the counter that day had done time at the downtown branch of the PO here in the ‘Burg.

The downtown post office is an institution here. Wedding invites are mailed here because of the unique postmark. The building itself is very cool – classic architecture. Groovy, huh? 

But its genteel faƧade is a jarring juxtaposition to the weird shit that often takes place there, based on what I heard from the two veterans who escaped its insanity for the relative calm of a quiet neighborhood post office.

Once upon a time, there were public potties at post office branches. Yeah. I’d wager a guess that post office bathrooms are just a notch up on the glamour scale from a gas station loo.

Yes, public bathrooms -- until it was discovered that a gentleman was using the men’s room at the downtown post office to empty his colostomy bag.


But that's nowhere close to the most "interesting" post office happening.

A woman was standing in line, nonchalant, minding her own business, waiting to conduct her postal transaction.

When all at once she was hit. From behind.

By a dude who ejaculated all over her back. Then ran out before anyone around realized what had happened.

Ew. Ew. EW.

Let’s all take a moment to recover from this revelation, shall we?

The security video showed that he had whipped himself out upon entering the building -- and no one noticed until it was WAY too late.


I cannot imagine what that poor woman felt like or subsequently went through. Now, I’ve seen my fair share of exposure over the years – from flashers wearing skin-colored pants carrying their junque in the palm of their hand as they strolled down the street to a naked man walking through the University Police Department parking lot in college at 7 o’clock in the morning.

But this. Ick. To me, it’s almost akin to being sexually violated, albeit in a very unorthodox fashion.

These stories beat the cuckoo stories I have from a grocery store I used to patronize (RIP Albertson’s): There was the time I saw a guy try to shoplift some meat by putting it down his pants. And once, I was in line in the express lane behind a guy who matter-of-factly opened up a bottle of rubbing alcohol and took a big swig. Then there’s the little old lady who dressed like Baby Jane (from “What Ever Happened to…” fame) and cruised down the aisles of the store in her Rascal scooter.

The capacity of human beings for achieving the weird and the perverse never ever ceases to amaze me. And I love it. But you knew that already.

Speaking of weird: my favorite On-the-Road sighting of recent memory was an older gentleman, in a white shirt with epaulettes, with a Captain Kangaroo mustache and a captain's hat, smoking a pipe while putting down the road on his knock-off Vespa. You can't make this stuff up. Seriously. 

It's what makes the world go crazily round.


Karin said...

Pardon me, I just threw up a little in my mouth. Ew. ew. ew.

Jan said...

You said junque. Giggle.