By: Anonymous

Maspeth is a community in Queens that’s minutes away from both Manhattan and Brooklyn. Now that the geography lesson is out of the way, I have something to say.

More Competent Than USPS Post Office Supervisors

I know the last part of that sentence rhymed, but this isn’t going to be poetic. On 69th St, there is this nightmare of a place called the post office, or, in this case, the Maspeth Post Office. I’d rather send a letter by pigeon than go to this monstrosity. First of all, New Yorkers know the smell of culture. Yes, culture has its own scent. If anyone has ridden the 6 or 7 train, you’ll know what I mean. The lobby of this post office smells like a mixture of body odor, old socks, and something that’s been in a freezer for years. Oh, it’s disgusting.

There is also nowhere to park. So, what does our glorious city do? It sends those animal f*ck ticketwriters to ticket our cars. Nope, they don’t speak a word of English. And the best part, these animals don’t have to write any longer. All they do is zap your registration. Perfect. So, after Prakesh scans your registration, it now costs $60 to get a stamp. For those of you wondering, “So, why don’t you park legally?” The answer is BECAUSE NONE OF US WANT TO WALK 49 BLOCKS AFTER WE PARK THE CAR! Please, if you haven’t yet witnessed this, you have to see it live.

Anyway, there are three spots for teller windows, 200 people on the line, and only one clerk working. So, you stand there, smelling culture, and not one person on the line is speaking the same language as the person in front of them or behind them. Apparently, the lack of service is due to budget cuts. Now, there’s a “supervisor” who doesn’t know her ass from her elbow. Nice woman, but please, explain to me how someone becomes supervisor, if those that they supervise, have to advise them on how things work. Unbelievable. But, what are you going to do? Complain? Who’s going to listen?

To anyone that has been to this post office, I feel your pain. There isn’t any sense in complaining, because the person to whom you’d complain is probably a moron as well. They can’t be fired, so why should they care.

Ingrid is cool, though. She rules.

- A. Marten

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