Oh thank goodness. You see...
the postal service has gotten a little jumpy about package drop-offs when the facility is closed (bomb scares, etc). So package bin wall units and postage machines are under closed circuit TV.
Sunday evening I showed up at our little post office with 17 priority boxes, pulled the curved door down, loaded a box in, and shut the door. After the fourth one went in, the bin jammed. I jerked it to loosen the box and it worked, but the next box jammed too. I yanked the handle a tad harder this time, only it wouldn't unjam. So I jumped up and down on the handle trying to shift the contents in the curved bin, looking like Captain Jack Sparrow trying to unlock the blacksmith's door.
Giving it up as a bad lot, I drove to the next town's PO (New Smyrna Beach). Same setup. I got 3 boxes in before that one jammed. Apparently Sunday evening = package bin saturation point. I bounced up and down again, trying to magically compress all the boxes on the other side of the wall and leave room for MY boxes. But no luck. I left, leaving behind the faint echo of a swear word.
It wasn't until the Port Orange post office that I--doing the Mailbox Macarena yet again--remembered the closed circuit TV thing. Slowly, I took my hand away from the bin handle and backed out of the facility, visions of "Housewife Goes Postal" making the eleven o'clock news.
I decided to go to a major distribution PO center in Daytona Beach and there....Ta-da! the remainders went in, one after the other. Job accomplished...not to mention that I'd gotten in 15 minutes of quality aerobic exercise.
So now you're getting them and no federal officers are showing up to arrest me for United States Postal Code Violation 15.B, Sect H, Para 24.7: Menopausal Abuse of Government Property.
All is well.
