Sunday’s Post
Because of exam from ‘syntax’ the Sunday was spoiled. I felt I had to learn this noble and interesting subject, but I hadn’t any willingness and so I spend the whole morning wandering in the streets and fighting with qualms of conscience. That was raining morning; after a quarter my head was wet and drops of cold water dripped on my neck behind collar. The gray, gloomy sky was beautiful in comparison with pages of descriptive grammar. Absolutely unconsciously and by chance I reached the Main Post Office which is open on Sunday and I entered it because there wasn’t anything else to do. The interior was dark under the influence of floor and wall covered with black marble and there were only a few customers next to the counters. I took place in small, three-persons queue to the counter with description on it: ”sending letters” Of course I hadn’t got any letters to send and it was difficult to say what I was looking for there, but I stood for fun and because …I don’t know why. The person who was above me was old, energetic women trying to send two, thick envelopes and trying to establish the possible date of receiving them in their destination place by the receiver. It wasn’t easy and that woman in the course of time got more and more jumpy as well as others in the queue including me.
- You should try to force that woman from the counter to get precise information – said I eventually – because if I were you I wouldn’t trust The Polish Post.
- I know – replied woman nervously – So ! Can you tell me where they will be in France?- She shook envelopes in front of eyes of the office-holder.
- Probably on Friday – The office-holder woman replied calmly
- When?! That’s too long! There was information on your advertisement that it takes only 48 hours!
- Don’t believe in written advertisements of these kinds of offices – said I – they are monopolists and there is no matter what they’d write.
- This delay is probably the result of the fact, - the office-holder answered calmly - that the first post car leaves tomorrow, because today’s Sunday.
- For god’s sake! – the old woman almost shouted – How long has this been that Monday plus 48 hours equals Friday?! Is it a joke?
- Do you want to know how The Polish Post works? – asked I – I’ll tell you. For two years I’ve got letters addressed to quite different town only because of fact that the name of street and number of house were the same.
- An what about the post-codes? – asked me the office holder woman interested
- YOU don’t mind the post-codes – I answered shortly.
- It may be – the woman inside the counter summarized briefly.
- It’s a scandal! – the old lady with thick envelopes claimed loudly and went out.
I was the first in the queue but I hadn’t any business here so I went out too. |
