23/12/2004
Complaining about the Postal Service
From the Mises Institute:
I trained for it as though I would be in a life or death situation. Now it was time for a terrible event, a thing that I do as infrequently as possible; a thing that any sane person approaches the way one would heart surgery.
I had to return a package so I went down to the Forest Hills, New York post office on Queens Blvd. I went early in the day—I was there just before 9 a.m. on December 8, 2004—in the mistaken belief that maybe I could complete my simple transaction—sending a small box to Ohio—in a few minutes.
I was wrong.
When I came in the post office, there were exactly 32 people ahead of me in a line that never seemed to end. And it was early in the day, who knows how many people would be there by midday or at the peak hours?
There are some seven windows in the office. Two were open. Several employees ambled around the back in the office. Apparently, they were not available to pitch in.
Gee, I hope none of the patrons planned on getting to work soon. I hope no one was planning to go somewhere quick. All of us now had a new job—waiting in line at the post office and taking orders from surly civil servants.
After better than thirty minutes in this egregious place—there were still ten people in front of me—it seemed as though we were all in the speed lane on the highway to Never Never Land. It was all too much for one poor soul. He jumped out of line and started banging on the door of the branch supervisor. After several minutes, he finally found this postal priest, “Would you come out and look at this?”
Now there were three windows open.
Still, the line moved very slowly. Forest Hills residents, who have been sentenced to the cruel and unusual punishment of going to their post office (or any post office), are advised to bring beach chairs, a hot meal and a radio.
Forty minutes into this ordeal and there were still plenty of people behind me. All of them, I’m sure, wondered if it would ever be possible to escape from this sentence. Yet, I wasn’t sure if I actually wanted to achieve the “Impossible Dream.” Did I really want to get to a window, with all the perils of dealing with a government that could ruin my life; that could lose my package?
(..)A delightful distinguished elderly Spanish woman stood in front of me in line. She couldn’t believe what was happening. She just wanted some stamps, a task that was turning into an hour-long event. She quietly asked,“Why is this taking so long? I’m never coming here again.”
Ojalá, senora! Olajá! (Here is an Arabic phrase that made its way into the Spanish language, a phrase signifying “may God grant” something. Olajá! If only we could privatize the post office and the…”). In any language, here is a phrase that sums up the anguish of millions of people who must deal with our postal service (sic).
If only this lady’s quite reasonable objections, and the objections of millions of others who dare to question this moron monopoly, made any difference in the world. Unfortunately, buena senora, they just don’t. Believe me, they don’t. Letters to members of Congress—clowns like Rep. Anthony Weiner and career television performer Senator Chuck (“Where’s the camera?”) Schumer—about the mails are useless. You get back idiotic form letters from these mountebanks telling you they “care” and “are investigating.” Why should anyone expect reform from these hinds? Many of these pols are in the pockets of the postal service union.
Luckily, the technological revolution is making the postal service, and it’s monopoly increasingly irrelevant. What letters to Congress won’t do, e-mail will. One advice to the postal service: adapt or die (Question: will it adapt as long as it has a monopoly, sanctioned and backed by the government? I vote no.).
(Via AdamSmithee)
Gepost door/Posted by: Ivan
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