The Post Office

Going to the post office shouldn't be a difficult task. You go in, wait your turn in line, hand the lady your letters, she weighs them and checks the destination, she writes down a number, you pay her that amount, and she hands you the stamps and stickers for your letters. You walk away, put everything on the envelopes and drop them in the slot. How easy is that? In Romania, it is not that easy. First you have to find the post office. The one in my village is hidden behind a huge fence and tall trees. There is no sign that tells you it is a post office until you are right at the door. Even with directions, I had to ask two people where it was while I was standing on the grounds It is not clearly marked at all. Apparently, they do not want you to use it. I approached the door four different times on a day it was supposed to be open when the sign said they were open but there was no sign of life. As I was leaving, someone told me they had just left.

I gave up trying to go to the village post office and decided to go to the one in town. It was larger and at least it appeared to be open. I walked in with my stack of letters. There are four windows with all sorts of notices everywhere. As I don't read Romanian, I asked a lady which line I should stand in. I held out my letters and she pointed to a line. I waited for three other people to take care of their business. Apparently, the post office sells phone cards, is a bank, sends money, takes payments for some utility bills, makes photocopies, sends money via Western Union, and who knows what else they do here ppears that mail is not their prime business. When I finally got to the window the lady was quite nice to me. She took my letters, weighed each one and put stamps and stickers on each one for me to put on. She wrote a number on a piece of paper, I gave her the money, and stepped aside to do the sticking. When I was done I found the box on the wall for deposit, plopped them in and was on my merry way in less than thirty minutes.

This wasn't too painful, although the post office is not in town at all, but is across the river. Remember that pedestrians have less than no rights here. On a snowy, windy day, it is not a pleasant walk, but I must send letters home to Mom or I will not have a home to go home to in June.

I think I can do this without too much aggravation. Alas, that was a slow day at the post office. The next time I went, there were three lines working, sort of. Let's just way there were people forming three lines, but I am not sure anyone was getting anything accomplished. This time I held out my letters again and asked which line I should stand in. A lady indicated the one to the far right. I headed that way but she pushed in front of me, almost knocking me over. I suppose she thought it would take too long for me to take care of what should be a simple task. I waited in line for a half hour and had moved up from number five to number three. Then another woman came in and pushed in front of me again. Apparently, I have a sign on my back that says, "I have no business here, please ignore me." I tapped her on the shoulder and indicated that I was here and she should step behind me. She turned around and began pushing in front of the woman who had already jumped the line. Enough is enough. I left. I have students who are happy to mail my letters for me on their way home from school. It is a shame, but that seems to be the way it is here.