My Job At The Post Office Helps Me Understand The Humans Better
TAGS | fiction, international
Marc Fleury
Marc Fleury is a writer living near Kingston, Ontario, Canada. His short stories have appeared in ZNB Presents and Seize the Press. He also works at the post office, which helps him understand the humans better.
The official duties consist of greeting customers, finding out what they need to do, and either helping them do it or advising in a supportive way why it cannot be done.
Unofficially, I try to make the humans feel better.
For example, there is an elderly gentleman who comes in once a month to send a payment to the telephone company and to discuss how a stamp used to cost five cents but now it costs one dollar and fifteen cents. I greet him by saying “Hello” in an enthusiastic tone and I attach a stamp to his envelope and place it in a container to be collected later that day. Regarding his desire to discuss the price of postage, I say, “Seems like everything is getting more expensive” or “That was a bit before my time ha ha” or “Yep! Crazy, eh?”
What I do not do is explain how the cost to deliver his letter far exceeds the income it provides at every stage of the delivery process. He does not want to hear that. He does not seek assistance in understanding the economic realities of moving paper from one location to another. Rather, he seeks to make a connection with other humans and to be reassured that his existence matters.
I believe my responses achieve that, even though they sometimes reinforce his incorrect assumptions. You might assume that a more direct statement would be helpful, but I discovered early in my interactions with the humans that it would not. I could say to this man “Your existence matters,” but such statements do not produce positive results. Instead, the best results come from indirectly implying that meaning, by interacting with people and behaving as though the things they say and do have significance to me.
One of my coworkers, Rachel, says to me today, “Talia was in this weekend.”
“Was she?” I say, not because I doubt the veracity of Rachel’s statement, but simply as a way of implying I want to hear more information.
“She mentioned you.”
“Oh yeah?” This is the way the humans speak to each other. I am capable of imitating their verbal mannerisms with great accuracy when I wish to.
“She said you were ‘fucking hilarious’.”
I laugh because Rachel and I have previously discussed how Talia says ‘fuck’ much more frequently than our other customers. It is considered an inappropriate word in many contexts. In the specific context of mailing homemade crafts, it would be difficult to justify its use.
Talia used to be an actress, most-known as a secondary character on a popular television series about a group of men who continually get intoxicated and commit petty crimes. I have never watched the program; the summaries and short clips I have seen do not appeal to my particular sense of humour.
Rachel adds: “I can’t tell if you guys are flirting with each other when she comes in.”
Although I am curious to hear more, I struggle to determine the best response. I immediately reject both “Yes we are” and “No we’re not” because, like Rachel, I also cannot tell if Talia flirts with me. Flirting is a complex human interaction that I do not fully understand yet, despite my many years among the humans. It is often said to be a precursor or an early stage in human mating rituals but it sometimes occurs between individuals who have no intention of mating. Also, the behaviours that might be considered flirting are so varied and subtle, it is often unclear even to the participants involved if any actual flirting is occurring.
As I have not yet replied, Rachel continues: “Like, when you make fun of her terrible handwriting.”
This is what Rachel is referring to:
One month earlier, Talia arrived at the post office with several packages. After I greeted her with a “Hello” featuring an extended ‘o’ sound, I began weighing and measuring her parcels.
Talia said: “Sorry about my terrible handwriting. Just trying to make your job harder, I guess.”
I picked up one of the items and deliberately looked at the address, as though inspecting it thoroughly.
Placing it on the scale, I said, “Yep, that’s the second worst handwriting I’ve ever seen in my life.”
You might think that this was a terrible choice of words, as it completely contradicts what I wrote earlier about the essential functions of my job. But you would be wrong.
“I’d hate to see the worst one,” Talia said, laughing.
I pointed to one of her other parcels. “It’s that one.”
Rachel considers this interaction to be possibly-flirting. She may be correct. I don’t know. The complex nature of flirting makes it difficult for me to even determine if my own behaviour is flirting.
“I mean, she does have terrible handwriting,” I say.
“Cartoonishly so,” Rachel agrees.
You might be wondering if Rachel is flirting with me now, but I am confident she is not. We are work friends and she seems to enjoy the time that our shifts overlap, but I currently inhabit a body that is almost twenty years older than hers. Also, she has a strong preference for humans who have genitalia similar to her own. My body’s genitalia are very different from hers.
Rachel seems satisfied with our discussion of my interactions with Talia, but I am not. I decide that I will pay closer attention when Talia next comes to the post office.
A week later, I am saying “Hello” in a sing-song tone to Talia, and she responds in a similar tone. I place her first package on the scale and begin measuring, but I have done this enough times that I am able to direct my attention elsewhere.
I decide to pay her a compliment, and gauge her reaction. I run through a mental list of possibilities. She is a middle-aged woman. Her hair is greying. She has bright blue eyes. She appears to be healthy. I reject each of these as I think of them. Some would not be interpreted as compliments, but also: it feels more genuine to notice something in which she made a deliberate choice. “You have nice eyes” is equivalent to “your parents have nice DNA.” Also, “You have nice eyes” feels too much in the “definitely flirting” category. I don’t want to push that boundary so directly, as it could cause her significant social discomfort if she does not wish to interact with me in that manner.
Her scarf has a colour pattern which matches her belt. I could mention that, but I know very little about fashion, and I would not be able to expand on such a comment if it became necessary.
She has a canvas shoulder bag with a cartoon illustration by a Belgian artist whose clean line style I admire. I should say, “I like your bag.”
“You’re really good at that,” Talia says.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“Typing in all the measurements without even looking at the keyboard.”
I briefly debate redirecting the conversation by saying “I was just admiring your bag” but I realize she has saved me the effort of thinking of a compliment.
“It’s my only skill,” I say. Self-deprecation comes more easily to me than gratitude.
“I doubt that,” she says.
I ponder this reply. She doubts that touch-typing is my only skill. On the surface, it makes sense – clearly I must have other skills. But nonetheless it strikes me as a peculiar thing to say. Did she mean that she has seen me do other things well? It almost feels too specific, even though no specific thing is being named. It feels like she is implying that there is a skill that she doesn’t want to name. It feels flirty.
The ability to detect flirting requires a comparison of behaviours. Does Talia speak to me the way that she speaks to other people? If yes, then either she is not flirting with me, or she is flirting with everyone. However, if she does not speak to others the way she speaks to me, then perhaps she is flirting with me. But it’s difficult to make that comparison because it requires me to observe her behaviour in my absence.
Despite my many years among the humans, I don’t know how to respond to her statement of “I doubt that.”
I consider making a joke about having one other skill, which would cause her to ask what it is, and I would respond “bragging about my typing” but that isn’t particularly funny. I consider obliquely leaning into the flirtiness by saying that I should add “can type without looking” to my dating profile.
Before I decide on a response, Talia says, “This might be my last batch.”
“Oh?”
“From here, I mean. I’ll have to annoy a whole different post office with my shitty handwriting.”
“Oh.”
“Moving to Edmonton at the end of the month.”
“Really.” “For work. It’s still a week yet, but there’s so much to wrap up here.”
“Huh.”
I suddenly find it difficult to type in the postal codes correctly. I slow down and focus on what I’m doing. Neither of us says anything more as I print out the postage labels for the rest of the packages.
Finally, I say: “Well, okay.”
We exchange a few more words. I tell her the price. She uses her credit card. After each phrase, I think, “Is that the last thing that we will ever say to each other?” That thought sits uncomfortably in my mind. I try to think of something that will extend the conversation. I want to say something pithy or profound. Something clever that will make her laugh. Something that would communicate “I am flirting with you.” Something that implies I have been flirting with her since the first day she came in. I should say “I like your bag.” I should ask about her acting. I should mention that her scarf matches her belt. I should say “You have nice eyes.”
But I don’t say any of those things.
She leaves, and I put her parcels with the outgoing mail.
Later, Rachel’s shift overlaps with mine, and I tell her Talia is moving to Edmonton.
“Oh no, that’s too bad. She’s really cool.”
“She is,” I agree. I should have said that. “Oh no. That’s too bad. You’re really cool.”
I think that would have been a good stand-in for “Your existence matters to me.”