I walk in, excited to mail in my absentee ballot request on the day it’s due. There are two checkout lines with employees working them. There is currently a line out of the main lobby, into a room with all the PO boxes. I stand and I wait, and people slowly trickle out. It seems like only one side of the aisle is moving, however, and I stand and wait some more. Eventually, I am next. I have made it inside the doors of the main lobby, and at the far checkout aisle is an older man, trying to ship a package. At the near checkout aisle, my eyes first notice a mangled brown box, misshapen and covered in tape, seemingly ripped apart by an animal. Then my gaze travels upward, to a clearly agitated woman, standing there with her mask half pulled down her face.

“This is the fourth time I’ve shipped it and had it sent back! You’re stealing from me! How much do I need to pay you, just for you to take it and refuse to deliver it! This is for my father! I need to send it, now!”

The clerk explains the situation, but I’m too far away to hear it. I don’t really care either, my eyes are fixated on this amalgamation of cardboard and packing tape lying on the counter. It just looks so odd. It’s as if the sorting machine didn’t recognize it as a package, and instead saw a dangerous intruder, taking any measures necessary to destroy it.

“Why can’t you just send it?”

“Let me get you a new box.”

The clerk is giving up on this exchange. Anyone who has worked in a retail environment knows the classic backroom trick. You need to grab something from the back, it’ll be just a second. The customer can’t do anything about it, even if they see right through you. You are rewarded with about 30 seconds to decompress and pantomime a few punches to the gut. The issue with the trick, however, is that the often angry customer is left to their own devices. Ignoring what has just been said, the package woman yells over the plexiglass to the other employee.

“Where are the boxes?”

The other clerk points to me.

“You see that gentleman’s head? Ok, now look next to his ear. See them? In a pile there? Alright.”

I was happy to be the head model, and even happier that I was called a gentleman. Most of the time, I would think less of someone for even saying it, but there was no judgement possible in this situation. I was so caught up in this internal turmoil that I didn’t even think of the reasoning behind asking for another box. The woman walks over pointedly and grabs a pile of flattened cardboard boxes. She throws all but one on the ground, and marches back to her little deformity. Inexplicably, she takes the flattened cardboard and begins attempting to wrap it around the shipped and returned package. Despite her straining and pushing, the flaccid box refuses to obey.

The clerk returns.

“You’re not gonna be able to ship it like that.”

This is my favorite part of watching people teetering on the edge of rage. There is, inevitably, a boiling point, and it is impossible to guess what comes next. The package woman throws her arms up dramatically, turns, and looks me in the eyes.

“Oh, the bureaucracy!”