I went to the post office Saturday afternoon to drop off a letter that had to be postmarked no later than that day. I suppose I could have gotten a stamp from the machine and dropped the letter in the slot, but that would have involved trusting the fine employees at the post office to a greater degree than my experience has taught me to. I thus found myself in a long, winding line for the next available clerk. I found myself hoping that I would be served by the kindly, smiling lady as opposed to the stern, grumpy-looking man at the other counter. When the person three people in front of me, the guy with about six packages to send, was called to her desk, I had hope that the timing would work out just fine. In the meantime, however, the grumpy postal worker served the next two customers while the nice lady carried on a detailed conversation about the school shooting that had occurred the day or two before. Perhaps I should have been nervous that a postal worker should take such interest in the subject of shootings, but mostly I was annoyed at the way her conversation became top priority, and I watched as she slowly scanned and weighed the packages, careful not to let her work get in the way of a little chit chat.

Eventually, I was helped by a third worker who appeared out of nowhere. She was all business, affixing the stamp and postmarking in what seemed like one fluid motion. She was pure efficiency, but kind enough, and probably much more considerate in the final analysis than Chatty Cathy at window one.

I got to thinking about what everyone says about New Yorkers: that they are by a large a rude lot. In my encounters they aren't so much impolite as in a hurry, and their curt manner more often than not was a gesture of courtesy, a consciousness that time is precious. It was primarily the suburbanites from Jersey and Connecticut and transplants from the midwest who were the real creeps, the ones with no social skills and a persistant delusion that you have to be an asshole to live in the big city. According to my grandmother, New York City once had a reputation for being friendly.

I doubt, though, that they were friendly in the way the lady at the post office probably considers herself friendly. She probably thinks that she's on a one-woman crusade to rescue postal workers from their reputation as surly or even murderous. But after waiting and waiting while I listened to her prattle on and on about metal detectors and video games, I was feeling a little surly and murderous myself.

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