The Post Office

I hopped in here on my way past yesterday to post a couple of letters. Yes, not even parcels. One was for New York, so not your standard stampage, and I wasn’t sure the other still counted as «Letter» as it was quite thick (17 pages. I ramble. You know that.)
I wombled in at lunchtime and was surprised by how short the queue was. I’d thought that somewhere this central would be jam-​packed, especially at lunchtime, but not so, and the queue was moving along at a fair lick, so kudos to the folks at the windows.
I, however, poor soul that I am, fished out my envelopes and was instantly barked at by a lady on patrol. «STAMPS? YOU WANT STAMPS?» — and she hustled me out of line. There’s an express queue for postage, it seems, of which I was unaware; my regular post office is the one on St Mary’s Street — infinitely more compact and manual — so I wasn’t used to the idea. Oh, provincial me. It was helpful of her, but she was also slightly alarming and officious in her manner, which kind of made me want to take these lengthy epistles, toils and spoils of my aching hand and brain, and run for the wind. «I won’t let her hurt you,» I would whisper as we fled down to the shore… But fortunately, reason prevailed, and I was swiftly served with the correct postage. A point here and there at the card machine and she bustled off to find somebody else.
I feel a warm fuzziness about post offices not dissimilar to that which I feel about Christmas, and so I wasn’t equipped to deal with this mild intimidation. Trying to claw back some of that festive posty spirit, I pulled my international stamp for the New York missive out of the machine, and bounced excitedly. I’m no avid philatelist but I do love to see a pretty stamp with a picture on it. «Look, it’s all colourful and pretty!» I squeaked to the customer at that moment replacing me at the machine, and pointed at my picturesque postage stamp. I was met with a derisive stare. Oh. Not that kind of post office then.
Still, it was light, it was quiet, and I got everything done quickly that I needed to do. I wouldn’t avoid it if I were nearby, but all else being equal, I would choose the queues and jovially messy jiffy bag walls at teeny weeny St Mary’s Street over the efficient brusqueness of Frederick Street.

No matter when I come here, no matter what day of the week or what time of day, I always have to wait for about 15 minutes before I’m even acknowledged.
It’s quite a small post office, given how many people it caters to. The staff are… well, they’re extremely capable at their job and so are quick and efficient… maybe a bit snippy but it’s a busy job.
If i’m in the area and have no other choice then ok, I’ll come here, otherwise, not my preferred post office!