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Post Italiaaane (you can sing the jingle ...)

The pleasure of going to the post office.
is not true that is torture. It 's always a valuable opportunity to observe the company is closed for a few hours (if all goes well) in a small microcosm of a few square meters. Sometimes it gives you a way to see that sometimes takes on the frustrations.
A typical situation is the lord or lady of a certain age, ready to ambush against a failure or a competitor in a row trying to move forward, or to one that uses the numeretto someone else's sold .. Today
the protagonist was the Lady "A099". She was sitting next to me and noticed that the door was not working .. 5 then began to suspect that the cashier aloud was a slacker. Formerly it was informed by my colleague, A094, you could pay with debit cards. And then came his moment goes right at the counter No.5, where a poster was quite visible warned that "no cash". Here
takes the world war, that the lady was very happy to deal with, to the sound of curious invective. He started to say that might as well say that you can not use debit cards because they were waiting for two hours in a row (in fact no more than twenty minutes), sarcastic and annoyed with the cashier that the correct "no, madam, are three hours waiting, I checked myself with the watch. " And so on ..

And I imagine them waiting for the day when some son or daughter will accompany in their off duty at the post office or similar, and that they are prepared well in advance, taking care of everything from socks to hair, skinny but ordered, while or that is in a hurry because it has to fit three hundred other things ... until then to return to their nest in their chair waiting for the evening where there will be "Gerry" and "Charles."
remember that Jehovah's Witness stunned in front of my agnosticism say " but how can you not consider that there is a divine plan, an intention behind the creation? 'S all too perfect because there was someone to idearlo may not have been a chance. "
Yes, the idea of the cycle of life, I accepted a while, 'but I can hardly be considered a perfect location where you must get to the solitude and employment uncomfortable for others and for themselves , of a space. With a stiff knee in a perennial because it can no longer work, or a voice that comes a miracle.
And when it comes out may not be heard. I wonder what's so perfect and divine in this natural and inevitable human mortification ...