Delta40
10-22-2011, 10:24 PM
Postage boxes come in all shapes and sizes and at this time of year and Stella notices the christmas designs. Tinsel and wrapping printed on cardboard to package some special gift covered in tissue paper to a loved one on the other side of the world. There are rows and rows of them in the small post office and choosing which one is no easy task.
Stella twiddles her bottom lip as she surreptitiously wanders up and down the shelf display. On the highest shelf are the larger sized ones. Big enough almost to put a suitcase in. Stella smiles and thinks that would be a really dumb thing to do in the first place.
As she proceeds, the packages of course get smaller and the designs go from pink floral to blue golf clubs. As if anyone really cares about the design. What's wrong with good old brown cardboard? Stella checks the price and nods sagely. That's why. The only reason.
In the post office, the line is getting longer. Usually around mid morning, people decide it's time to pay their bills. Electricity, gas, rent, tax. You name it and the post office can do it. This place gets especially busy because across the road is a backpackers hostel and people from every corner of the earth seem to be sending gifts home to family and friends.
The folk who just want to have their barcode scanned or buy a stamp get cheesed off. First because weighing, packaging and sealing a postage box takes time, especially when there is a communication problem. Stella picks up a box which might be suitable while studying the hand to hip, foot tapping impatience of some customers.
An African girl is trying to send a large package but the Post Mistress is speaking to her like she is deaf and stupid.
'You need more mon-ee. See?' She rubs her thumbs across her fingertips as if this was some international sign for cash. 'Mon-ee. Me no do it for this price.' It's more a display for the benefit of the poor Aussie citizens who have to put up with outsiders. Stella, originally from Holland, knows this all too well but the African girl replies fast and with an air as if she has little time for narrow minded Aussies.
'Well tell me how much and I'll pay ok?' The Post Mistress frowns, looks invisibly past the young woman at the waiting crowd and raises her eyebrows.
Par-don? What you say?' Somebody snickers as the African girl just stares back expectantly. She repeats herself for the benefit of the crowd but the girl just drums her fingers, looking past the Post Mistress as if she never spoke.
The resltless sound of the line increases and Stella wonders if they're mad at the Post Mistress for her dumb 'I gotta talk like this to foreigners' act or the African girl herself. Her hair is beautifully braided with bright coloured beads. She is tall, lanky and the tight denim shorts against her flawless chocolate legs is breathtaking. But someone still shouts out from the back, 'Get a move on will ya? I ain't got all day!'
Stella isn't sure who the comment is aimed at but the line mumble their discontent without making themselves too conspicuous. The Post Mistress obviously blames the African girl since she isn't Australian for starters and as Stella knows, that matters here for some reason. She puts the package to one side and brushes the African girl impatiently to the side of the counter.
'I see these people first and then we talk more mon-ee.' Without even noticing the girl has her purse out and on the ready, the Post Mistress smiles apologetically at the next customer. "I'm so sorry to keep you waiting. Just paying the electricity today are we? That'll be $42.00 thanks love.' A quick scan, print out of a receipt and the job is done. She continues like this while the African girl is overlooked by everyone moving up the line. She joins Stella who is idly looking among the postage boxes. They smile politely at each other and scrutinise the many designs and sizes. Stella settles on a bland striped one while the African girl, after some deliberation snorts out loud and chooses an identical box to the one she is struggling to get posted.
As the line diminishes, she returns to the counter and slams the box down in front of the Post Mistress, stating clearly, 'I don't want that box now. Put it all in this one instead.' The Post Mistress loses the customer service smile as she hands over a pre-paid phone receipt and takes a step back. Like an amateur deaf and dumb teacher she goes through the physical motions of trying to get a message across that the African girl already knows but the audience is quite small now and her speech seems to make the situation that bit more pathetic.
'Me wrapped this one for you alred-ee. It weighed. You just give me mon-ee and we done.' In a flourish, the Post Mistress almost curtsies and Stella shakes her head in wonder at the crass stupidity of some Australians.
The African girl nods her head, suddenly queen of the situation and Stella doesn't think her smiling down at the short, stout woman is without some sort of malicious satisfaction.
'I don't care what you've done. I tell you I want to change the box and that is what you will do. I'll pay for them both but you lady, you unwrap everything and repack it in this one straight away. Straight away I say!'
Stella watches how shoes so quickly change to the other foot. The Post Mistress seems to become shorter and fatter while the African girl towers above her. With a face that looks like thunder, the Post Mistress sulks, huffs and puffs as the wrapping is torn free, the sticky tape cut carefully when she is ordered sternly not to damage the cardboard print of the box under any circumstance. There is definitely no communication problem now. Stella enjoys the spectacle. The postage box she has under her arm can wait.
At last the African girl pays the sweaty Post Mistress thanking her for her service.
'How you say? Thanks Cobber!' She laughs and tells the Post Mistress she will be back in on Tuesday with the old box and will require her help once again.
'No problem,' grimaces the harried woman behind the counter.
Stella pays for her box and the mistress, flurried from the experience asks breathlessly where the box is being posted so she can start to calculate the cost.
'Nowhere. I just liked it and thought I would buy it.'
The Post Mistress is relieved but puzzled. Who would buy a postage box if they weren't going to send it overseas? She opens her mouth to say something but catches the African girl outside the office laughing with her tourist friends, who look through the window and wave. She checks herself, keeping silent for the first time that day.
Stella likes the post office and decides to come back on Tuesday in the hopes she'll catch the second entertaining instalment of the African girl and the Post Mistress.
Stella twiddles her bottom lip as she surreptitiously wanders up and down the shelf display. On the highest shelf are the larger sized ones. Big enough almost to put a suitcase in. Stella smiles and thinks that would be a really dumb thing to do in the first place.
As she proceeds, the packages of course get smaller and the designs go from pink floral to blue golf clubs. As if anyone really cares about the design. What's wrong with good old brown cardboard? Stella checks the price and nods sagely. That's why. The only reason.
In the post office, the line is getting longer. Usually around mid morning, people decide it's time to pay their bills. Electricity, gas, rent, tax. You name it and the post office can do it. This place gets especially busy because across the road is a backpackers hostel and people from every corner of the earth seem to be sending gifts home to family and friends.
The folk who just want to have their barcode scanned or buy a stamp get cheesed off. First because weighing, packaging and sealing a postage box takes time, especially when there is a communication problem. Stella picks up a box which might be suitable while studying the hand to hip, foot tapping impatience of some customers.
An African girl is trying to send a large package but the Post Mistress is speaking to her like she is deaf and stupid.
'You need more mon-ee. See?' She rubs her thumbs across her fingertips as if this was some international sign for cash. 'Mon-ee. Me no do it for this price.' It's more a display for the benefit of the poor Aussie citizens who have to put up with outsiders. Stella, originally from Holland, knows this all too well but the African girl replies fast and with an air as if she has little time for narrow minded Aussies.
'Well tell me how much and I'll pay ok?' The Post Mistress frowns, looks invisibly past the young woman at the waiting crowd and raises her eyebrows.
Par-don? What you say?' Somebody snickers as the African girl just stares back expectantly. She repeats herself for the benefit of the crowd but the girl just drums her fingers, looking past the Post Mistress as if she never spoke.
The resltless sound of the line increases and Stella wonders if they're mad at the Post Mistress for her dumb 'I gotta talk like this to foreigners' act or the African girl herself. Her hair is beautifully braided with bright coloured beads. She is tall, lanky and the tight denim shorts against her flawless chocolate legs is breathtaking. But someone still shouts out from the back, 'Get a move on will ya? I ain't got all day!'
Stella isn't sure who the comment is aimed at but the line mumble their discontent without making themselves too conspicuous. The Post Mistress obviously blames the African girl since she isn't Australian for starters and as Stella knows, that matters here for some reason. She puts the package to one side and brushes the African girl impatiently to the side of the counter.
'I see these people first and then we talk more mon-ee.' Without even noticing the girl has her purse out and on the ready, the Post Mistress smiles apologetically at the next customer. "I'm so sorry to keep you waiting. Just paying the electricity today are we? That'll be $42.00 thanks love.' A quick scan, print out of a receipt and the job is done. She continues like this while the African girl is overlooked by everyone moving up the line. She joins Stella who is idly looking among the postage boxes. They smile politely at each other and scrutinise the many designs and sizes. Stella settles on a bland striped one while the African girl, after some deliberation snorts out loud and chooses an identical box to the one she is struggling to get posted.
As the line diminishes, she returns to the counter and slams the box down in front of the Post Mistress, stating clearly, 'I don't want that box now. Put it all in this one instead.' The Post Mistress loses the customer service smile as she hands over a pre-paid phone receipt and takes a step back. Like an amateur deaf and dumb teacher she goes through the physical motions of trying to get a message across that the African girl already knows but the audience is quite small now and her speech seems to make the situation that bit more pathetic.
'Me wrapped this one for you alred-ee. It weighed. You just give me mon-ee and we done.' In a flourish, the Post Mistress almost curtsies and Stella shakes her head in wonder at the crass stupidity of some Australians.
The African girl nods her head, suddenly queen of the situation and Stella doesn't think her smiling down at the short, stout woman is without some sort of malicious satisfaction.
'I don't care what you've done. I tell you I want to change the box and that is what you will do. I'll pay for them both but you lady, you unwrap everything and repack it in this one straight away. Straight away I say!'
Stella watches how shoes so quickly change to the other foot. The Post Mistress seems to become shorter and fatter while the African girl towers above her. With a face that looks like thunder, the Post Mistress sulks, huffs and puffs as the wrapping is torn free, the sticky tape cut carefully when she is ordered sternly not to damage the cardboard print of the box under any circumstance. There is definitely no communication problem now. Stella enjoys the spectacle. The postage box she has under her arm can wait.
At last the African girl pays the sweaty Post Mistress thanking her for her service.
'How you say? Thanks Cobber!' She laughs and tells the Post Mistress she will be back in on Tuesday with the old box and will require her help once again.
'No problem,' grimaces the harried woman behind the counter.
Stella pays for her box and the mistress, flurried from the experience asks breathlessly where the box is being posted so she can start to calculate the cost.
'Nowhere. I just liked it and thought I would buy it.'
The Post Mistress is relieved but puzzled. Who would buy a postage box if they weren't going to send it overseas? She opens her mouth to say something but catches the African girl outside the office laughing with her tourist friends, who look through the window and wave. She checks herself, keeping silent for the first time that day.
Stella likes the post office and decides to come back on Tuesday in the hopes she'll catch the second entertaining instalment of the African girl and the Post Mistress.