A Rare Moment of Incompetency at the Post Office

I am not a fan of the post office. I usually only go after hours, when I can use the kiosk at my local branch to buy stamps, ship packages, buy insurance... basically every service the employee provides but in a fraction of the time with more accuracy, because instead of him reading it aloud I can see all the options at once.

The post office is always crowded. This is due to the fact that it is understaffed with incompetent people, and its customer base seems to represent the worst of society in intelligence, social norms and manners, at any given point in time. Add to this the variable that I would rather be doing anything else, and it is the perfect storm for frustration.

My task today was to renew Karsten's passport, which expires next summer. As a minor, his passport has to be submitted in person, with both parents present. Since there are only a few days a year in which Kim and I are both available AND the one post office in Boise that processes passports is open, it had to be done now. Here are the highlights of the trip:

1. Two employees, who are helping no one in the empty office and see us waiting, don't address us as they chat about a nasty cough one of them has. I finally interrupt and ask: "Is there a form I can fill out while I am waiting?"

"Oh, yes," one woman says quickly, and hands me a form. I notice the other employee is searching for something on Google. "Thanks," I said: " I wouldn't want to interrupt the Google search."

2. I don't have Karsten's SS number on me. I ask the employee if we can do everything else and call this in. She says no, but asks if someone else can call it in. I let this lack of logic slide and call my mom, who is fortunately home and able to go to my house. As we are waiting, more people walk in. Each of them is addressed quickly and provided with forms, much to my irritation, as we were not.

Another group comes in, and they apparently are ready to go. "Come back here," the employee motions to them, but the group doesn't move. "They were here first," someone says, pointing to us.

"They are waiting for someone... you are waiting, right?"
"Yes," I said, "but if this means I lose my place in line and will be here another hour, I would like to get going now, because my mom will be calling any minute."

Awkward pause. "Come back here," she grunts to me.

2. After we get to her desk, I hand her the form, which has Karsten's name and birthdate (1999). I hand her his birth certificate, current passport, and new pictures, which are of Karsten. I told her earlier during the SS number conversation that we are renewing Karsten's passport (the only one in the room under the age of 35).

She looks at the form and asks if the passport renewal is for Karsten. I look at her for a moment before nodding my head.

3. She asks how tall Karsten is. She points to a ruler taped on the wall. Karsten walks up to it. "Fifty-four inches," I said. She nods her head and stares blankly. I know what the problem is, but say nothing. She taps her fingers and looks at her computer monitor, as if it will speak to her. She starts to mutter under her breath: "Twelve, 24, 48...."

"Four feet, six inches," I offer.
"Okay," she says, and pushes the paper to me: "Why don't you write that in?"

4. Ironically, the more this went on the more friendly she was with us, telling us stories of passports that would make Joseph Conrad proud. It was almost as if she got paid by the hour with no connection to accomplishments and will close shop regardless of what work is left to do, so she has no incentive to be more efficient. It is almost as if she belongs to a union.

The waiting area is now filling up with people.

Kim asks how much this will be. "$85." I reply. "$60 for the passport, and $25 for processing."
"Yes, $85." the woman responds, as if she gets credit for knowing as much as I do from the web site.

Less than five minutes later, she pulls out a piece of paper to serve as an invoice, because I have to go to the post office cashier to pay for this (we are in a separate office). She writes $75 for the passport, and $20 for processing. I start to walk out but realize that isn't right.

"Excuse me, but isn't this charging me $95 for the passport in total? It is supposed to be $85, right?"

She smiles sheepishly and crosses out the $75 and writes $60. At this point, I honestly don't know if she is a complete idiot or a thief- you could convince me either way with minimal effort. When I hand the paper to the cashier, she doesn't bat an eye with the messy invoice, and I wonder what would have happened if I had crossed out $60 and wrote $2.99.