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So I was at the P.O. yesterday sending out more Christmas cards. Apparently people are still mailing Christmas cards because they continue to buy them from me.
Anyway, as the postmaster put them on the scale he asked, “Do these packages contain anything liquid, fragile, perishable or potentially hazardous?”
I started to say no, but then hesitated. “What do you mean by potentially hazardous?”
“Why?” he said.
“Well, these are Christmas cards. They might cause a paper cut. Or someone could choke on one.”
“I wouldn’t put them in my mouth,” he said.
“Well, someone might. You might consider striking the word, ‘potentially’ from your spiel there.”
“Look, I know people are going to lie to me anyway.”
“You know people are lying? That’s not very optimistic.”
“I don’t care if they are lying. I just need to ask the question, so I can sleep at night.”
“Knowing people are lying makes you sleep better?”
He paused from totting up numbers on the register, and looked at me. For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Finally, he turned back to his machine and handed me the receipt. “Sometimes when you come in here, I feel like I’m under interrogation.”
“I’m just the customer!”
“I know. But there are so many questions!”
“I’m just asking! When people ask you things, it only means that they are interested.”
“I’ll have to remember that. Can I help who’s next?”
One cannot overlook, in this case, the reputation of postal workers being prone to sudden bursts of violence. I took my receipt and quietly left the building.