More specifically, let's play Mockingbird Station post office. Go in, take a number. See that the number being served is ten numbers higher than yours. See that there are only four other people in the place. Feel relief that you'll be in and out in no time. Watch as a successive line of complete idiots assaults the postal employees with such problems as (I shit you not) "I don't know the address where I'm supposed-ta send this." Tap heels impatiently. Look on in horror as one number is called and from out of nowhere, two 300-plus pound men start shifting huge boxes of crap over to the counter. Marvel as one of the lard-asses looks over his shoulder and cheerfully announces: "Sorry, we're the eBay dudes, everyone!" Like any single person in the place gives a shit. Except I DO because now I am one number back but 80 packages behind. Wonder at the woman who, when informed that she can't mail glass bottles without including some type of cushioning packing material, flips the fuck out and starts screaming at the postal employee, who calmly pushes a button and calls another number.
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Ok, let's not play that because it's no fun. Especially at the end of an eleven-hour work day.
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thisaway - thataway