The Shinn Digs

This time I was certain I had a fool proof homemade wood floor cleaner. Vinegar, water, and bat poop. Yes. I was skeptical too … OK … I’m totally kidding. You think I’d put bat poop on my floors?? Probably … but I didn’t.

No … this is a different kind of casualty. In trying to drive less and bike more, I planned my day to combine my trip to the post office (to mail 100 letters as well as pick up what is sure to be a full box of mail) and a work out. I planned to bike. It’s a relatively quick trip, though I forgot to eat lunch and the head wind was about 50 mph, so at some points I was actually going backwards, which was frustrating. But I made the five mile trek in a bit over 20 minutes, which isn’t that much longer than it would have taken me to get there in the car, hit all the lights, etc. Plus, as I reasoned to myself several times when gale force winds blew me backwards, at least I’m also getting my workout in. These days I’m lucky if I get 3 workouts a week.

When I arrived at the post office I was quite happy to see the nice lady I know … her daughter plays basketball for Westmont, so I see her regularly at games. I waited patiently, a little curious why there was only one worker, but I was tired from fighting the 50 mph headwinds, so I took advantage of the rest time to carbo load and hydrate for the return trip, as I was certain the wind would shift and I’d have to fight the wind back as well. Drat … the not-so-nice man that I always seem to get stuck with came back from his break. I tried to calculate my chances of ending up with the nice lady, assuming every customer would require an equal amount of time and every other person in line would go to her, I was going to be OK. But as luck would have it, I got him. Now, I’ve been doing my FCA mailing at this branch for years. And as I mention, I almost always get this man. So I felt sure when I told him I had forgotten my box key as I handed him my license for identification purposes, he’d smile and run and grab my mail (which the nice lady has done several times for me). You see, the box key is on my key chain, which I didn’t need cause I was being green and biking the 20+ minutes in the 50 mph headwinds so future generations can actually still survive on the planet.

Now, you need a visual of this guy. He’s a combination (in both looks and demeanor) of the store manager in the movie, Serendipty, and the Soup Nazi in Seinfeld. I’ve seen not-so-nice man operate. He’s a rule follower to the letter. In fact, just before I walked up to the counter, a lady with about $35 worth of what appeared to be $.42 cent stamps stuck to a box, slipped up to the counter without waiting in line and asked if she could just put the box in the collection box out front. He said, “You’ll have to go to the end of the line. I’ll need to process that.” She said, “But I have the correct amount of postage on the box.” “I’m sorry. You’ll need to go to the end of the line so I can put a sticker on it.” My hunch is the sticker said something like, “No stamps for you.”

Anyway, when I explained to not-so-nice man that I had forgotten my key and asked if he could just grab my mail, he said (in a “please don’t cross the line” kind of voice like the Serendipity store manager), “Oh no. The boss said we cannot do that anymore. You must have a key to access your box.” For fear of getting immediately ejected from the store, Seinfeld Soup Nazi style, I asked to purchase 200 stamps, moved away from the line to finish stamping my letters, aware that not-so-nice man would not care that I had just biked to the post office instead of driving, so his grandchildren would still have clean air to breathe and oil to power their lives. I had biked to the post office fighting the 50 mph headwinds, taking a total of 50 minutes out of my day to try to save the planet … and he couldn’t just give me my mail?

Thankfully, the winds didn’t shift and I enjoyed a nice tailwind on the way home, though it seemed to have slowed to about 7 mph at that point. My bike trip was a casualty in that I didn’t get to retrieve my mail, which I’m certain has a lot of Camp paperwork that I need to process, so I’ll need to return within the next 24 hours. I’ll probably succumb and just drive my gas-guzzling car, with little thought to not-so-nice man’s grandchildren. The extra trip will be just another casualty as I fumble along in the attempt to make some green changes in life.