Why I love the P.O.
Yesterday I was wandering around Times Square, and I picked up a wallet to replace my old one that was falling apart. A $5 special. I don't have any illusions as to its quality, but for the price, hey. One of the bonuses is a coin pouch, closing with a snap. I have some occasional coins that I kinda just jammed into my old wallet--that this one has a pocket is nice.
So I go to the post office this morning to pick up a package and to buy some stamps. (I have to mail my parents' vehicle registration back to them from when I drove the van into town; I found it while transferring wallet contents.) The only bill that I had that would cover the pack of stamps in the vending machine was a $20. It sounded like a slot machine when it gave me change. Clang, clang as it dispensed twelve dollar coins. I forced them all into the coin pouch, and barely got it closed. I wonder who's going to be the lucky recipients of them.
But I got a call a bit after I got home from my old post office, wondering if I'd started getting my mail yet. I'd given them my number, but I never expected that kind of followup.