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.

A Rant--a glimpse behind the scenes at the post office

I've worked at the same post office for over 31 years and I have seen major changes--from no route, to route, changes in office hours and number of employees. Classes of mail have been added and new procedures occur regularly.

Although the mail volume is more than when I first started, it certainly is a lot less than a few years ago. The man hours they give us to get the work done has dwindled to as low as possible. What doesn't get taken into consideration is that though the mail volume is lower, the paperwork increases and increases. We all know this is so our big brother can keep an eye on us.

Let me just give you an itsy bitsy example of what we have to deal with. We have to empty the collection box daily. I've done it for 31 years perfectly. Simple enough task? Well, no. Let me compare new days to old days.

When you take the key with you, you are to take a scanner and a big card. The card gets put in there to show the next person who opens it that you did indeed open it.
(The next person is most times--me!). You take out the card that's in there. Then you scan a barcode inside the collection box to prove to big brother that you emptied it.

The fun doesn't stop there. After you sift through the collection box taking out certain things that have to be sent separately (another rant which I better not go into), you grab a placard, mark it with the office name and date and tape that placard to the tub and put the tub with the other outgoing mail. Put the collection box key in the safe.

Done? No way. Then you take the scanner and download it so big brother can know. Done? Heck no. You wait until the scanner says it has downloaded the info.
Done? Surely you jest? Then you go to your computer and get on the appropriate program and wait for the scanner info to be transferred to the computer. When you see that it has transferred to the computer, done? Of course not. Then you print up the confirmation that it took. You sign that piece of paper. Done? What are you kidding? No! Then you go to this check list of 20+ items that we have to verify every day that we do, and you write down the time that is printed on the copy that you printed up. Now you can file that away. Done.

In the old days, you took the key to the collection box, emptied it and put the tub with the outgoing mail and key in safe. What was so wrong with that? And one senator lately expressed his opinion that the post office does not have enough government regulation--are you kidding me? Just what I need more paperwork!

I would like to point out that there is no cheating on this procedure. Should you not verify that the info transferred to the computer and for some reason it doesn't transmit, you will get a call at home that you have to go back and re-scan it. Same thing if you scan one minute early. You have to go back and scan it and if there is any mail in there, drive it to the plant. If your computer is down and you can't verify, then you complete another form and fax it in.

I remind you this is a tiny part of what is expected of us every day. If only the job were just sorting mail and waiting on customers... I wouldn't even mind the paperwork, if it were reasonable. Actually I can handle paperwork. The problem with most of our paperwork is that we have to do it while waiting on customers so you are constantly losing concentration. It takes twice as long, at least. The other paperwork at the end of the day, is done in the 30 minute period when you are finishing the mail for dispatch, preparing the bank deposit, changing dates on stampers, locking drawers, doors and safes and of course, simply emptying the collection box...yeah right.

Well, I hope big brother or even his little brother is not monitoring my blog, but I've only said 100% truth. That's my rant for today. I hoped I would feel better having said all this, not really.

Boycotting Mother Teresa?

"I choose the poverty of our poor people. But I am grateful to receive (the Nobel) in the name of the hungry, the naked, the homeless, of the crippled, of the blind. of the lepers, of all those people who feel unwanted, unloved, uncared for throughout society, people that have become a burden to the society and are shunned by everyone."--Mother Teresa on her acceptance of the 1979 Nobel Peace Prize.

The U.S. Postal Service is issuing a stamp August 26th on what would have been Mother Teresa's 100th birthday. She was a wonderful humanitarian and did so much for so many people. Who would ever find fault with honoring her on a stamp?

Well, it appears the Freedom from Religion Foundation is asking people to boycott the stamp. They feel it violates the postal regulation that "individuals whose principal achievements are associated with religious undertakings" cannot be on a stamp. There is no doubt that Mother Teresa was a religious person and motivated by her faith, but the same could be said of Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. and Father Flanagan. There was no flack for them being honored on stamps and dare I say, what about baby Jesus who is on a stamp every Christmas?

This atheist group suggests that people purchase the Katherine Hepburn stamp instead because (I did not know this) she was an atheist. I can't imagine that with her successful acting career that she would want to be remembered for being an atheist. Since Hepburn's stamp is coming out in May and it is standard practice to only have commemorative stamps for a few months, it is likely that the consumers won't have the opportunity to choose between Katherine Hepburn and Mother Teresa. There are, of course, many other stamp choices, but I for one, after this publicity, hope that the Mother Teresa stamp becomes a big seller. If the postal service changed their issuance schedule, they could possibly cash in on a contest between the sales generated by Katherine Hepburn vs. Mother Teresa. Who would have ever imagined a contest between those two women?

Who would think that a woman of peace would in death, cause controversy. She blessed so many and in her honor, I leave you with one of her many, many inspirational quotes, "Every time you smile at someone it is an action of love, a gift to that person, a beautiful thing." :)

Merry CHRISTMAS!! There, I said it!

We just got our annual memo at the post office. We are not to say "Merry Christmas" or "Happy Hanukkah" but should say "Happy Holidays" or "Season's Greetings". This is a pet peeve of mine. If I know the person is Jewish, I will wish them a happy holiday. If I don't know, it's kind of a clue when they buy Christmas stamps. If they are celebrating "Christmas" and I am selling them "Christmas" stamps, why can't I say "Merry Christmas"?

I've heard a number of comments over the years, "I would like the non-religious Christmas stamps." Well, that sure shows how far out of line the holiday has come. Hello...Christmas is a religious holiday. OR "I think I should take the politically correct stamps" meaning the ones with the nutcracker instead of Madonna and child. Guess that person was celebrating "Holiday" instead of Christmas, since a stamp with Christ on it would be appropriate for Christmas. Now I have to be honest here...often I do not like the choice of Madonna and child stamps and I will buy the non-religious ones, but I will say "Merry Christmas".

I guess that's what bothers me the most. I know I work with the public and therefore, they want me to be politically correct. I understand that they want us to be diversified and tolerant of all. Yet, I cannot help but feel this is an infringement on my freedom of speech. I am not to say "Merry Christmas". It's not like saying something degrading to someone. If someone said, "Happy Hanukkah" to me, I would not be insulted. Do people really take offense if I say, "Merry Christmas" and I'd be curious to know what percentage? I realize how much it bothers me to be told what I cannot say. I guess I am lucky this is just my employer and not my government as in some countries.

I hate to suggest, but if they want to be politically correct, just change it from "Christmas" to "Holiday"--no Christ, no religion--just Santa and materialism. I would think that would be on the list of things to do with the people who want to take God off our money too.

Well, I'm not at work, this is my blog and I would like to say MERRY CHRISTMAS! MERRY CHRISTMAS! MERRY CHRISTMAS! MERRY CHRISTMAS! MERRY CHRISTMAS! MERRY CHRISTMAS! and in case you didn't get that, Merry CHRISTmas!

Why'd the Chicken Cross the Road?

It's obvious that I lead a simple life by the things that I enjoy or find interesting. This morning before I opened up the post office, I was in the back room unloading and I heard someone come to the back door. It was a customer that I knew and I figured he wanted some mail favor, however, that was not the case. He wanted me to look at this bird across the street that was laying on the grass in front of the school. He said he never saw anything like it before. (This picture is almost accurate, though the one we saw had a much prettier white head and it was all white and not so much red).

He said he was going to go home and look in a bird book to see what kind it was. I told him we had a bird book there (one employee bought it for the office when we had another bird that bird lovers from all over were coming to see because they seemed to be nesting only in Hartland). He looked and looked in the book while I was unloading the mail and also watching the bird who had now decided to cross the road (why I don't know, but I think it was to come and see us.)

He was smart enough to speed it up when there was a car. He wandered by the mail collection box out front and slowly made his way to us. He squawked at us a little. It became evident that it was not a wild bird but belonged to someone. Another customer said it was a Polish Chicken. The first customer and I did not know if he was pulling our leg and that it was some kind of joke. After searching the Internet, I learned that it was true.

Well, I never thought I'd ever find a chicken cute, but this one was cute and kind of personable. He obviously wanted something to eat. He would have come into the post office in a second had I left the door open. I called the animal control officer, who I know would treat him well and try to find his home. Someone thought they knew the owner and that a fox had gotten into their coop last night and perhaps he had run this way. I'll have to find out if he got to his owner okay--if not there is a list of three people who want him! No, I'm not one. He was cute, but I like animals that you can pet.

So, why'd the chicken cross the road? To meet the wonderful people across the street...or to find something to eat. Or, just maybe, he was applying for a job to replace the eagle as the post office's new mascot. You think?

A Story

Once upon a time there was this boy, let's call him Johnny. Johnny's Dad was a big time level 24 postmaster. Johnny said, "When I grow up I want to be a postmaster too."

When Johnny was old enough he got an entry level job at the post office as a part time clerk (level 5--a long, long way to 24). Johnny knew he did not want to stay a clerk, so at the advice of his father, he searched for a temporary postmaster substitute job (level 11). He found one in a teeny tiny post office within a year. You wouldn't think he could do much damage there. Customers questioned his ability. Some of the customers who had been buying longer than he'd been selling, were not sure of his slight of hand with the calculations.

Johnny set his sights on his goal of becoming a level 17 supervisor. He spoke to the big boss and was told the post office doesn't let you jump from 05 clerk to 17 postmaster. Johnny was sad. He knew that it would take years to reach his goal. He was not a patient person.

Within a couple of months, Johnny heard of a level 13 post office looking for a temporary postmaster. He went for it and got it. You might be thinking, "You go, Johnny." Well, no. Johnny continued his incompetent ways and angered the customers causing them to call consumer affairs on numerous occasions. The other people he worked with knew that he wasn't balancing the books correctly and they worried about that. They even drew it to Johnny's attention and he told them no to worry about that and basically to mind their own business.

Now this temporary job was available for a permanent job. There were at least three applicants, two were clerks who wanted the job at this office and they probably would have stayed there for a long, long time. They really wanted that job.

Johnny talked to the big boss and told him, "I want to be a supervisor when I grow up."

"Well, Johnny, I'd love to do that especially since I know your dad," said the boss. "But people watch and there are rules. I'll tell you what, you take this postmaster job at level 13 and I can then get you into a level 17 supervisor job and I know one that is going to be available. Let me just interview these other poor slobs who think they might get the postmaster job and then I can officially do that for you."

Johnny was thrilled. Sally and Jody who really wanted the job were very sad. Mark who had to work with Johnny was sad too. Johnny did not treat him too kindly.

Mark found a temporary postmaster assignment for six months that he really wanted to do. Johnny was mad because then he couldn't go on his assignment as supervisor. Now, rules are that Johnny could not stop Mark from bettering himself. So, Johnny looked for a replacement for himself and he found this wonderful new employee who had been with the post office a couple of months. Johnny thought she could run the office all by herself (how would he know otherwise since he had never correctly or aptly run an office). Mary went in there and in less than two weeks threw up her hands and quit. She said it was too much work for one person.

Well, there are some more underhanded and sneaky parts to this story, but let me just bring you to the end. Mark had to go back to his office, but he would be temporary postmaster there and Johnny happily got his temporary supervisor job level 17. Now, it is only supposed to be temporary, but rumor has it, as has happened before in the post office, Johnny was a postmaster for two months at his office and he will never come back. He will be on the records as postmaster for a year and after that Johnny will become supervisor and live happily ever after. Oops. Sorry that Sally, Jody and Mark and customers had to be stepped on to get there and who knows what other poor person wanted the supervisor job.

Moral of the story: To get ahead in life, it doesn't matter how much you screw up, it is definitely who you know and the best credentials are membership in the GOBC (Good Old Boy Club).

Sadly most of this story appears to be true. Names have been changed to protect the guilty. And no, I am not one of the victims or guilty ones in this story. I am just the sympathetic ear. I know, life isn't fair.

Bunny Blues and Going Postal

I was going to write a song--"I got the bunny ate my flowers blues" (see previous blog), but I'm going to let it go--even though every time I come home I see the crime scene. I must move on and forgive.

In the past I have given you some insight into behind the scenes at the post office. No one could imagine everything a small town postmaster does. Since we are on our own out in the offices managing everything, the higher management seems to come up with so many different procedures so that they can be sure that we are doing everything perfectly and to be sure we are not bored--I have never had a day in my 11 years of being a postmaster when I was all caught up and had nothing to do.

So, the latest test of our ability was a post office box audit. In theory this doesn't sound bad. It's an inventory of how many post office boxes are in your office of each size, their numbers, how many are rented, how many are available and how many are broken. It also entailed some other filing duty things, but that was minor (well, kind of purging files and combining others).

Well, physically counting should be easy. I have over 450 boxes and then another set of over 200 that were installed and will never ever be used. I didn't worry about the 200.

Well, let me tell you what I was doing for four days. First we must sort the mail and do our daily required reports and read our emails. Then I could start this project. We have four different walls that hold post office boxes in our little office. So, I start with the smallest section and the easiest because all but two of the boxes are the same size. Simple--just count how many across and how many down and multiply and add two. This is how it goes, "one, two, three, four" oops--wait on customer. Back, "one, two, three, four, five--one row done." Wait on customer. Back "one, two". Wait on customer. Back "one," phone rings. You get the idea. That was the easy part of counting--then counting how many were rented, not rented--I think I was ready to cry at one point. In a small office after the mail is sorted, the postmaster works alone multi-tasking to the hilt.

Then we had to compare the figures to a program on the computer, an edit book we have, and two other programs on the computer and spot check them with our physical cards. Are we having fun yet?

No, you don't know what fun is. You see, one program was in numerical order and another is in physical order, which is unfortunately not the same. Years ago when the world was simpler, previous postmasters were so nice to customers. A customer would have one size box and want a different size--not a problem until the postmaster let them keep their own number. The problem? That puts the post office boxes out of sequence. I tease clerks who come from other offices that you have to learn to count "East Hartland". Example, 235,236,231! What is worse is 350,273,376--all in sequence. That's just a sampling. If I had only carefully selected the hairs that I pulled out, I would not have any gray.

Well after four days of madness, I finally put in an hour of overtime so I could work on it straight without interruption. I am so glad to be done.

The next project...they just sent out a DVD and stack of reading material which is mandatory training equivalent to 5 hours. Used to be we had to drive to New Haven for training. I am glad not to have to do that and they are wise not having to pay us travel pay any more. However, here we go again. I have to watch the dvd and read the "fascinating" training between my other work--5 hours of training will take at least 7 hours.

So, there's a sneak peek at some of the behind the counter doings at a small post ofice. Now where would they ever come up with the term "going postal"?