I went on one today. I need stamps in order to send mail home. That’s pretty obvious.
I went to the post office because that seemed like a logical place to find stamps. Again, obvious. So far, no one should be thrown off by my erratic logic.
I waited in line at the post office. It was a long line. The post office is in a news agent shop, so small children with sticky fingers (snot? candy?) kept shoving past my knees to get to the stand with the flashing Rudolph nose antler display.
After I’d waited some time, a gentleman in front of me achieved his turn at the coveted hole-in-the-glass. He asked for stamps. Small world.
“We’re out of stamps,” the cranky lady said. “Come back Thursday.”
“Do you have any smaller values of stamps? Can I make up 47p?”
“No. Can’t make 47p.”
“What about 21p stamps? Do you have any of those?”
Is it me? If you put three stamps of 21p value on an envelope, that makes 63p. That is 16p more than needed, but it is, in fact, a way to get adequate postage onto the envelope.
The woman continued arguing with the man about how she couldn’t supply him with stamps in spite of the fact that she apparently had stamps.
I got out of line. I went to the liquor store. They, fortunately, were not out of liquor.
It was an idiodyssey.