My Last Words: On the Moldovan Post Office
Going to the post office in Moldova always puts me in a bad mood (in case you can’t tell from previous blog posts- this is your official notice). No matter the time of day, or the day of the week, one is required to wait on line behind loads of people buying postage, paying their electricity bills, receiving their pensions, buying soap or getting a passport – and it is always too hot (winter, spring, summer and fall). Understaffing? Nope. There are usually 4 or 5 employees doing literally nothing, while one person tries to hold back the masses. Also, when you do get to the front of the line – the postal workers act like you are bothering them. To America, a letter? I don’t think we do that here… or you are somehow waiting on the wrong line (even though there is only one), … or you need to come back on Thursday between 9:00 and 9:02 am for that particular service.
Plus. No one seems to get mad at the lines, at the rush, at the crowdedness. Sometimes I feel like people, the older ladies especially, fill their days by coming to the post office to gossip, see who is getting packages and letters, and to generally be recognized. Not to mention to ask one little question that they already know the answer to – or could find out the answer to by calling a neighbor or friend.
I was reading Bill Bryson’s “Notes from a Big Country” and he, I think, adeptly characterized American Post Offices while comparing them to British ones. His description is fitting here:
From Pg 41:
"The counter staff are always briskly efficient and pleased to give you an extra piece of stick tape if it looks as if our envelope flap might peel open. Moreover, American post offices deal only with postal matters- the don’t concern themselves with pensions, car tax, family allowances, TV licenses, passports, lottery tickets or an of the hundred things that make a visit to an British post office such a popular, all-day event and provide a fulfilling and reliable diversion for chatty people who enjoy nothing so much as a good long hunt in their purses and handbags for exact change. Here there are never any queues and you are in and out in minutes."
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Minutes! Minutes!? Imagine that... if only.
In summary, Scott – I hope you eventually get my letter – Moldova doesn’t seem to know what an APO is. And the person who tried to “help” me at the post office would only speak in Russian – I miss my friendly westwood post office.
This entry was posted
on Monday, September 01, 2008 at 10:14 AM.
