14h - I leave my house, my bag filled with packages to mail to the shoulder.
2:03 p.m. - I crossed the threshold of the post office. A long human barrier divides the premises into two parts. A dozen people formed a single file. Far ahead, two separate panels are placed before 4 wickets "All operations", and thus form a barrier that hides the non-active employees. Of these four wickets, only one is operational, others are totally deserted. To provide better service to its customers, The Post has revamped its layout.
To my left two machines for weighing oneself shipments and print-your-own stamps. On these two machines is down. Just next door is the photocopier to photocopy their documents themselves. A4 is a beautiful sheet taped to the hood of the machine, a note is written to the attention of those who would want to use. Can see in childish handwriting the words "Failed". Just off this workhorse with no maintenance contract is the counter "Package". But just as the 3 wickets "All operations", this one is definitely abandoned. To signify that it is a lost cause to hope to see an employee, the window was decorated all over with all packaging colissimo imaginable. It has become the showcase exhibition of products from La Poste. Two benches let you imagine that there were pending and therefore the activity at one time. But these banks are not used to anybody, and nobody would dare to leave his place in queue to go and sit until it happens.
To my right, stop "letter". Once again, the sentinel in charge of this daunting task has abandoned his post.
Behind me, another stop a little dark about its activities. One imagines that the packages are sent there because again, mounds and packaging Chronopost Colissimo are arranged all around in cardboard fortress.
2:05 p.m. - The tiny old woman just before me in the queue begins to stir. She tries, but still valuable in its place, to see what goes on behind the walls advertising (yes, we There is a bit of everything: packets of envelopes pre-stamped, cookbooks, comics and DVD price absolutely not defying any competition, etc.). After stretching, physical worthy of a little rat of the Opera, she finds that she is not out of the woods and jumps up and down all over again.
2:07 p.m. - The tiny old lady withdraws. She left her place and decided to go attend to other business. Win a place so, and I decide not to take one step forward to leave a passage for people wishing to use their own machine to post, and so to save me from pushing unpleasant nervously.
2:08 p.m. - A dynamic framework enters the scene of not pressed. Wretch! This is the thing not to do in La Poste: being in a hurry. With a look bewildered, he quickly deciphers all the signs that indicate which window does what. It targets the wicket "Package" and reached in three strides. He tries to find the invisible employee who may be hiding behind the mountains of cardboard boxes. Very quickly (it is pressed, remember), he understands that he will not be served. It targets while an employee of the digestive and post ride passing by. He harpooned, shot the questions and criticisms the limit of the insult, he decides to throw in the towel against the incompetence postmistress.
2:13 p.m. - Meanwhile Indian file has grown. 5 people are behind me. One of them, seeing the gap of 45 cm Civic that I left before I attempted to extort up. But of course I responded by indicating the direction of the tail. The person falls back, sighing loudly.
2:18 p.m. - The tail advance at idle. People are starting to hop with impatience and lethargy. I'm starting to not feel my right leg. I also hops to leave my circulation blood.
14:20 - You hear sighs, grunts, hate mumbled phrases. The waiting becomes unbearable. People check for the umpteenth time the address written on their envelope. They pat on their mobile phones to handle, while staying on the alert to respond to the very second the tail forward.
2:24 p.m. - The tail advance. Almost simultaneously, each person made two small steps forward, dragging their feet. Behind me, I feel a breath near a warmth that emanates and a sort of discomfort in his back. I turn around. There, at 3 cm distance, is a girl who protects his place by the most radical: to stick to the person before. That person, of course, it must be me. I breathe deeply, open a chakra and breathe out slowly.
14:30 - I'm almost there! More than three people before me. The ordeal of waiting up to an end. Courage, it is important not to fail so close to the goal.
2:31 p.m. - Miracle, used previously in the digestive walk moved to one of 4 wickets.
2:32 p.m. - The employee removes the sign "sold out".
2:33 p.m. - The employee replaced by a sign "Pro cards.
12 / 100 2:33 p.m. ET - A queue formed suddenly in front of the wicket. Where are these people, nobody knows because everybody was busy scrutinizing when the other employee will deliver the magic words "next one". In the file "pro card," people cling to their VIP cards.
2:35 p.m. - The sighs turned into groans. My file is exasperated and disgusted with the preferential treatment is being done to people who can afford to pay a minimum of 50 € / year for the privilege to just under the tail to the Ext.
2:38 p.m. - Hurrah! I am now in the lead. A sense of pride came over me, I kept having hitherto kept my composure and not lose a leg. I take a look at the length of the queue behind me. I find myself having a smile that reflects my petty pride front of the queue. I look at all those behind me with a quizzical look.
14.40 - I hear the employee begin a dialogue with the client, announcing my impending move!:
"And with that sir?
- This is it.
" Then it will make you 28, 43 €. .. "
The customer left his wallet ; The beating of my heart accelerating.
But this is when I hear on my left foot scraped the ground. The process is punctuated by a metallic sound and steady, close to the sound of tolling bells. My eye goes to the funeral march. There, my heart stops. Advancing a step resigned, an old man and his walker to conquer MON wicket. He holds in his hand a plastic card carefully. This old man has the Black Card VIP cards: the famous card "disabled", priority pass, stars of the European Union, wheelchair finger.
Sure of himself and his piece of paper, the old man still has the kindness to show me his cards close to prove its legitimacy in the fence shameful place. Quietly, without much hurry (it's a disabled anyway), he joined the wicket which was meant for me.
14:45 - The old man must feel very lonely. For not happy with the grill room for everybody, he started a conversation about totally private with the jailer, the name of god.
"Oh yeah, my good sir, is what it was. I at the time, people were saying hello ..." Blablabla, clack, clack (sound of his dentures poorly bonded), blablablabla.
2:47 p.m. - The old man has arthritis, it's official.
2:48 p.m. - During the health check of Aymee Truffion (we lack more than its number of safety), the teller cards made fart pro performance. The 4 VIPs have been served! The ticket is free! Neither one nor two, I rush to the free zone. An employee greets me:
"Hello Mrs. .."
Having already prepared everything, I leave my luggage and my bills carefully filled.
"For shipments colissimo.
- Okay, then, is to send in France?
- Yes, everything is ready.
- I see."
Here it slips out colissimo different.
"You want to send single or recommended?
- You see, I already filled my bills, here.
- Okay, so attention is unsigned, eh.
- Yes, I know.
- Ugh, I know not what I got one of those headache, "she said to her computer.
I watch with round eyes, fingers tapping on the plastic window. She takes one of the packages, put it on the scale, and until it makes the weight calculation (operation that takes no more than two seconds), it disappears under his desk. I am looking to see what she traffics. The migraine search in his bag and asked where his pills were gone for the head. It raises its head by blending excuses to make me wait. Refarfouille it in his bag. She finally reappears, her purse in her hand. It takes a second to perform the same package weighing operation. Taking advantage of the time it was given, she rummages in her purse and pulls out some yellow pieces. It takes a third parcel. At that time, all my nails are broken.
"Ahlala, but it's not terrible, my head will explode, I'm really sorry, I'll quickly go to the machine to something sweet because there I want more ... "
I did not even have time to open his mouth to tell him at least finish what she started, she was gone!
I gnaws little nails I have left.
2:52 p.m. - The again! hands empty.
"Again sorry ma'am. The worst thing is that I did not have the correct change for the machine. I went there for nothing. "
My fingers bleed.
She took the last packet and shall weigh.
" You need something else?
- not just the addition. Oh yes, while you're there and since I often items forbidden, would it be possible that you me give other bills that I prepare in advance?
- Oh no, this is impossible, we have not been delivered, it is expected one week supplies. "
I do not want to go in his conversation and did not ask him how she had managed my unaddressed bills.
"Too bad. I pay by card. "
She takes the card machine, tape carefully the amount, handed me the machine. I notice an error in inputting numbers.
" Uh, I owe you 25.00 euros, not 2500 euros. ..
- Ohhh, excuse me, hehehe, I do anything with this damn headache. "
It retypes the amount this time it's good! Brl, brl, brl, the ticket comes out, it tears me and trends.
"That lady.
- I can retrieve my card, too? It can be used.
- Ohhh, excuse me, I see you lying to you huh, I need sugar.
- That's goodbye Mrs. .
- ...
- In re-see!
- Ohhh, sorry, goodbye ma'am. "
2:57 p.m. - That's it! I managed to mail my package! I can not believe I'll finally be able to leave its premises where patience is the mother of all virtues. At the desk next to Mr. Truffion restarts also with his newly purchased book of stamps.
I leave the office ext.
Outside, birds sing victory, while Mr Truffion goes to the pharmacy of the post.
15:00 - I'm going home.
3:01 p.m. - I leave my house to go buy some fake nails.
CC Cancan 2009
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