I haven't been to the post office in a long, long time. With everything going high speed these days, there just isn't room for taking time anymore. For taking it slow.
There is also the matter of location. It used to be that the post office was right in the middle of town, within walking distance from everything. Five--or was it ten?--years ago, PhilPost gave up prime real estate in the name of commerce. What used to be very accessible became relatively remote and--eventually--forgotten.
Today had me going back to once-familiar ground. Despite the five-year lull it looked as though nothing had changed. The old postmistress is there--still as smarmy as ever. The post-office boxes evoked the same mystery, and there was this musty scent that I have always associated with parcels waiting to be claimed.
Before cable, before the net and before cellulars made the world a lot smaller, Mr. Postman was our link to the outside world. He made summers a lot more exciting, and there was practically a world inside his mysterious brown bag. At one time, the bag yielded an autographed picture from the Debby Boone Fan Club!
My business at the post office took some time. It could have taken a lot less if the office workers clocked in on time, or if they did not do everything in slo mo.
Not that I minded, of course. Suddenly, I longed for the romance of snail mail, and for once, it felt good to take a little side step to a world that moved a little slower.