International Post Office
After going to Barracas to teach English for the morning, I stopped off at the international post office on the way home. My mom had sent me two GMAT study books and I ignorantly thought I’d pop in and out of there and be on my way to take the train home. I could not have been more wrong. Never had I imagined parcel pickup could be such a chore. I already thought Amazon.com and UPS were diving blessings, but now they have moved even higher in the celestial stratosphere of my mental ranking system.
As I walked up to the dilapidated building and saw the band of smokers outside mingling with those waiting inline, I thought, “Please, no.” My fears were confirmed as I crossed the threshold and saw the line of those waiting to pick up their packages. It was rather disheartening to hear the man at the desk call out “seis” (six) and look down at the number 95 in my hand. I felt sorry for the American kid from California who waited all that time, only to get to the front of the line and find out he need his passport and was out of luck. Fortunately, I learned that lesson a long time ago and came prepared.
For a while I stood in front of the desk in disbelief. Usually my life here is 1st or 2nd world with visits to the 3rd world for teaching or visiting friends. But sometimes the 3rd world grabs you by surprise, throws you in the car, and drives around for a while, during which time you’re held hostage. This was one of those days. I watched as two men frantically took papers, made a trip to the central computer because theirs either weren’t working or weren’t networked, and then placed the papers in a bin. But this was no ordinary bin, it was a rectangular wooden box, with a divider in the middle. After placing the paper in the box, they would tap on the cable, as if to say to the men upstairs, “Goin’ up!” The box then proceed up the pulley system as another simultaneously descended. Now the USPS is known for its inefficiency, but this was surreal. I took some pictures as I waited in line and and then proceeded to find sit in the other waiting room as it would be a while before my number was called.
I had entered the building at 12:49 p.m. and finally had my paper stamped at 2:06 p.m. But that was merely the first stage. They had only received my request and now I had to wait for the men upstairs to find my package after pulling my slip out of the aforementioned magical box. I staggered to the waiting room thinking, “This can’t take too long.” I should have known better. Disbelief returned as they called out numbers on the speaker system. All of our numbers were 7 digits long and there was no convenient display like when you return an unwanted toaster at Target. The numbers were repeated quickly, with some distortion in the sound, and at intermittent moments. At one point, the waiting room was entirely full, and as there had been a long delay since the last number had been called, some of the 100 or so people began to clap and cheer, saying “Vamos!” (“Let’s go”) as if were were at a soccer match. At 3:52 p.m., I thought I heard my number called and proceeded through the door. Relief washed over me as I glimpsed that glorious white and blue Priority Mail padded envelope. I walked past all the men dressed in lab coats, as if processing packages qualified them as special technicians, made one final stop to sign out, and was on my way.
Three hours to pick up some mail. Oh efficiency how I miss thee. How anyone in this country could walk out of there still espousing socialism is beyond me. My friend Spencer is sending me some of his grad school books and in a couple weeks I’ll get to do it again!
