My Postal Farewell
How
do I sum up thirty-four years of working at the East Hartland Post Office? A
quote from Charles Dickens' novel comes to mind: “It was the best of times; it was
the worst of times,” and like his novel, it is a tale of two “cities”—rather
three divisions—customer service, management and micro-management. This is part
rant because I wanted to give a picture of what happens behind the scenes and
part a nod of appreciation to the customers and co-workers.
I
didn't spend my entire working career at the USPS. I spent seven years at CG
Insurance Company in three different positions but left there when my first
child was born.
When
the USPS was offering their exam, I decided to take it. My first interview was
actually for Norfolk, CT where we lived at the time but I didn’t get that job.
My
second interview was for East Hartland, the town I grew up in and lived in for
fifteen years.
The moment I walked in, I saw a friendly,
familiar face, Evie Bjorbekk. I had gone to school and church with her son. She
was genuinely thrilled when she found out I was there to apply for the other
clerk position. She put in more than one good word for me to the Postmaster,
Priscilla Evonsion.
I
started April 19, 1980 and I never left East Hartland in my entire career
except for three weeks of being a trainer at the academy. The hours at East
Hartland, though part time, were miserable: Monday, Wednesday, Friday 8 am – 10
am and 4 pm – 6 pm and Saturdays 730 am – 12:30 pm. The commute was 25 miles
one way so I often spent the middle parts of those split days visiting Mom who
babysat for me. Eventually we moved to Barkhamsted, which I love, and that made
things much better.
We
had a good postal team. Priscilla was clearly the boss but also a friend. She
was an excellent teacher providing the ground work for me to follow all the
postal rules and regulations precisely. Evelyn was a teacher of life, mostly by
example. She cared about people and few people know the things she did above
and beyond, for example, I saw her on several occasions, use her own money to
put the proper postage on an envelope where someone had not put on enough.
In
addition to our postal duties, one of the most important things we did in the
eyes of the children was to hand out cookies. Looking back and thinking of that
glass cookie jar, which we took turns refilling at our own expense, it was a
very unsanitary thing. The kids were trained to say, “Cookie, please.” so there
were not so many hands in the cookie jar—yet, we did not wash our hands between
sorting mail, making change and handing out cookies. People didn't think about
those things as much then. Heck, they licked the stamps we handed them. Is it
any wonder anyone survived?
Priscilla
had them install and alter the post office to accommodate several hundred new
boxes for the growth we were seeing in town. Shortly after that, William Bakken
started a petition to have rural delivery in East Hartland. The rural route was
added and most of the new boxes went to waste except for the larger ones which
we used as storage. More than twenty years later, three quarters of them were
removed and sent to an office that needed them.
Over
the years our “team” changed as people came and went—all but me. When Priscilla
transferred to Southwick, Mass. in 1985, a secretary from Hartford was sent out
to serve as Officer in Charge, the term for temporary postmaster. I can't say
it didn't burn my buns that I had to train my new boss who didn't even know how
much a stamp cost. Ida Martin learned the job well (I'm a good teacher) and was
there six months.
The
next postmaster later that same year was Mary Ransom. She was my favorite boss. She had the most
wonderful sense of humor. She did her job conscientiously and cheerfully. We
always had laughs. What I appreciated most about Mary was her unselfish nature
telling me that my family came first and allowing me whatever time off I needed
when she could cover.
When
Mary retired, I was assigned as officer in charge in 1992 and I was hoping I
might have a chance to apply for the postmaster position. However, one day six
months later without warning, this tall gentleman showed up and told me he was
the new postmaster. What do I say about Wayne Hapgood? He also enjoyed life and somehow unlike all
the previous management, didn't seem to let the job fluster him. He assigned a
few of his duties to me and was the only postmaster I saw that would occasionally
put his feet up on the desk and read the newspaper for a few minutes.
Wayne
taught me a different philosophy entirely opposite of my original mentor, he
said when management above gives you all these extra reports and things to do,
which they always loaded upon us, they just want you to sign off that you did
it. It doesn't matter if you did it or not. Just say you did. I am sure a lot
of postmasters had that philosophy as it was almost essential to be able to
finish everything I just could never adopt that. Wayne was an easy going boss
and he did express his appreciation for the extra work that I did. He was the
one who suggested that I become a clerk trainer at the academy.
I
have always enjoyed training people and am glad that I had that opportunity for
three weeks of my career. I am sad that I am not going to be allowed the time
to train my replacement. I would have made him/her great.
No
sooner had I become a trainer, when Wayne moved on to another job in the USPS.
They made me OIC once again in 1995 for seven months in East Hartland and this
time when I applied for the postmaster position I got it. I was chosen by Bill
Cournoyer and became postmaster on February 17, 1996. Sadly, he was not my boss
when I was sworn in months later and so I learned of the revolving door of
bosses. I wish I had the presence of mind back then to start counting how many
bosses I had. I know since 2007 I've had 12.
I embraced the
job of postmaster wholeheartedly. Besides the regular duties, I enjoyed “making
up” extra activities, for example Postmaster for a day essay contest. The young
winner spent a day being the “postmaster”. I did that four years. We had
mailbox improvement contests, letter writing contests, coloring contests and
more. We had scouted and school tours. I enjoyed decorating for the holidays. We
had two special cancellations over the years, one for Bethany Lutheran Brethren
Church and one for the Folk Festival. Our big claim to fame was the stamp
unveiling of the Candy Heart stamp when we had a fun time with all the people
in Hartland who had Love or Heart in their names. Three TV stations and two
newspapers covered it. Those were happy memories.
Unfortunately
management became more and more demanding over the years. We were required to
do daily manual checklists of the things we already did anyway. These
checklists had to be completed and available at a moment's notice and then
there were several places online that we had to reaffirm that we really did
it—check lists of the checklists. I
remember one day when I was called close to 10:00 am when I was supposed to
have all the mail in the boxes. I was asked to fax the checklist into them.
Well, I had several customers and when I hadn't faxed it in ten minutes, they
called back. I said, “Listen, I am not done distributing the mail and I have customers.
Is this more important than that?” They said, “Yes.” After I faxed it in, they
called to reprimand me because there was one item on the list that did not
pertain to our office, and I had put N/A on the line for the entire week. I was
told not to pre-populate any of the lists. That is just a bird's eye view of
the micro-managing that the postmasters have to endure.
It's
those things that I don't want to forget about the post office, because I will
miss this job that has been part of my life for thirty-four years. I don't want
to forget the wakeup call at 5 am at home when I was being reprimanded for the
parking lot not being plowed for the truck from Hartford. I couldn't understand
why they were calling so early when the truck didn't come until 7:30 am. Turns
out they called the wrong postmaster. Then there was the call at 11:00 pm at
home. One of our duties is to scan a barcode in the collection box to prove
that we did our job and emptied it. On this particular day, I had not worked,
but an employee had scanned the collection box ONE minute early. So, at 11:00
pm I was told I had to return to my office, open the safe to get the collection
box key, re-scan the box, download the scanner, wait for it to show up on the
computer, print the report (we do this every night anyway) and then if there
was any mail in the box, since it could have been put in the box during that
minute time (I think the employee would have seen someone in the time they were
walking back to the office and obviously any mail in there was from 5 pm – 11
pm), to drive it to Hartford. Thanks to Wayne's old advice, I can say there was
no mail in that collection box. (wink, wink).
In
the earlier years of the route, if there was no carrier available for some
reason, the postmaster sometimes had to deliver the mail in their own vehicle.
I didn't mind casing the carrier mail, but I hated delivering. When the LLV
(long life vehicle) was assigned to our office, I never took the test so I
never had to deliver the route again.
It's
going to take a while for me to forgive management for forcing me to transfer
the office to a new accounting system the week I retire. It required 4 hours of
training and several hours of preparation and a ten hour day for the actual
transfer. Not all offices are switching at this time but they wanted to do it
at my office because there was too much a new person could “mess up.” As I
write this, five days before I retire, they still are scrambling to fill my
position after 50 days’ notice. This job
not only entails, sorting the mail, forwarding the mail, returning or
re-routing mail, but of course, knowing the services we sell and how to process
them for the customer. There are special ways to dispatch the mail. Each
package that comes into the office has to be scanned a minimum of two times,
sometimes three scans. That's the clerk end of the job. The postmaster end
requires keeping track of stamp stock, ordering within a certain dollar limit,
keeping track of box rents, accounting paper work and bank deposit, paying the
bills and ordering other necessary supplies and forms as you run out, time
cards and volume reports. There are a slew of emails daily to weed through and
many, many other reports to do. There are also rural audits every year or two
where every single piece of mail the carrier touches has to be manually counted
and recorded by type of mail for two weeks. Believe me, it is not a fun task. I
include this information because many people don't think there is much to the
job. I have five sites to click on before I even start sorting the mail in the
morning and more during the day. This is just the postmaster job in a nutshell.
I could write
many pages about my exasperation with management spinning their wheels on
things that didn't matter. Then there was the time when I missed a scan or
something and I was told that I had to respond to them with what I was going to
do to punish myself. I thought about responding with 50 lashes with a wet
noodle or better yet, taking a “day of reflection”--there really is such a thing.
Most
of my bosses I never met face to face. It actually is nice to go to work and
not have to see your boss every day in person, but you need to be
self-motivated to complete all the tasks. On the other hand, if the boss had
been down the hall, then maybe it would have been easier for me to beg him in
person, rather by email or phone, to find me someone to cover so I could be
with my mother in the hospital. That was the only time I had to go over my
boss's head. And now, despite 50 days’
notice, they waited until the final weeks to try and find a replacement for me
and have been scrambling. On the other hand, they didn't waste any time to
start the process to reduce the office hours. (It could not be done before
September if I was still there). I will be the last full time postmaster for East Hartland. Yes, management has made me laugh, exasperated
me and made me cry. These sour memories
will remind me why I am glad not to be working there anymore. I blame this
micro-managing with my sometimes grumpy moods with the customers.
I
worked with a nice group of people over the years in the office, clerks,
carriers and PMRs (postmaster reliefs). The ones I worked the longest with were
Jymi, George, Kathy and Brian. I also gained a wonderful support group of
fellow postmasters who called each other to solve problems, decipher what
nonsense management was asking of us or to gripe about it or the rare irate
customer. These co-workers, via phone, became friends. On occasion we see each
other face to face and have a bond that we will always share.
Then
there are the customers. I've seen customers come and go. We had regulars who
came to hang out with us a little bit every day. We received advice on
gardening, finances, stamp collecting and many other topics. We learned of
history in “their day” from the seasoned customers. Many shared personal events
or happenings in their lives. One loved to tell us jokes—often repeats, but we
still laughed. Others had their key phrases they would always greet us with,
such as Tim Root when it was a sunny day, “Great day for roofing.”
We
were the “go to” place for why the fire alarm went off the night before or who
in town might do a certain trade. Quite often someone would wander in
hopelessly lost asking for directions. Sometimes they were close—other times
they were so far off it was unbelievable. One honestly was a bus load of people
who needed directions to NYC.
There
was the day that I was rushing out the front door of my home to come to work
and I twisted my ankle and when I went to catch myself, I landed on a rock and
twisted that other one. I had to get to work as no one else was available. I
drove my standard transmission car and worked the 8 hours resting my feet on
another chair when I could. Dear Penny Lacasse brought me ice for my feet and a
2 liter of Coke to see me through. That evening I went to the walk-in clinic
and came out with a pair of crutches for my two sprained ankles. Fortunately, I
had the next day off.
There
was the blizzard when I actually slept alone on a sleeping bag on the floor of
the post office not wanting to drive home.
I
can't tell you how much we appreciated the goodies and presents that customers
gave us. It is especially great to have such pick-me-ups in the hectic holiday
season. When Evie retired, she would always stop by with enough copies of the
Daily Bread for everyone in the office. When she passed away, Einar Olsen
stepped in and continued her tradition. The first time he brought them, I
thought of how she still lived on via others.
We
loved the homemade cookies, the chocolates, the pistachios, eggs, warm waffles,
even breakfast from the breakfast with Santa. I can't remember all the goodies
we received, but I always tried to write thank you notes as my Mom taught me.
Everything was greatly appreciated.
I
was humbly honored and thankful when I was given the opportunity to be the
grand marshal in the East Hartland Volunteer Fire Department parade. I will
always remember that.
I
thought about keeping track of the names of the stuffed toys that we mailed out
that some child had left at a relative’s house. Of all the many times that we
sent out packages of things people left behind, this year I had a first.
Someone mailed back something they had accidentally taken home with them from
someone's house.
We
had baby chicks, bees and tadpoles arrive to be delivered and coconuts with
addresses written on them—it is scary to reach in a sack and feeling something
hairy. Before the days of our “fragile, liquid,” etc. question and requirement
of a return address, we had an extremely nasty package arrive that had to be
locked in the bathroom in a plastic bag until it could be delivered. We even
had a couple of cremated remains to be delivered over the years.
Over
thirty-four years I guess I was lucky that there were only four unwanted guests
who wandered in over all that time—a mouse, a snake and a chipmunk, the last
two both in one week!
I
could go on and on and maybe someday I will write more. I will miss the social
interaction and the intimacies that were shared with me and the customers who
became friends. I will miss hearing of the latest bargains that could be found
somewhere or of an activity going on. But I won't be far away and I know I will
see many of you again and there is always face book.
Now
for the million dollar question that people keep asking, “What are you going to
do in retirement?” First I have four doctor and two dentist appointments in May
because I have not been able to get time off. I have worked the last 31 weeks,
six days a week with one day off for a funeral and five hours for a nasty
stomach bug.
My
plans are to finish my novel, a love story but I also write short stories,
children's stories, and poetry and have a comic strip idea besides blogging. I
will have time to “really” cook, read, play the piano, and clean out our attic,
and do volunteer work. I look forward to more time with family and friends, day
trips and vacations. I have worked over 41 years but if I get tired of being a
starving writer and beach bum, I will look for another job. The USPS has said
they will gladly hire me back at less than half the pay I earned—what a
bargain, with my years of experience. No thanks.
I
am looking forward to this next chapter in my life and thank the people of East
Hartland for truly making the last chapter part of the best of times.
PS I apologize for the lengthiness.
There was more I could say too, but I just wanted to give you a glimpse of my
time at the post office.
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