So, this is a typical Thai dinner at our house - and one of those meals I LOVE to make because of all the prep. This is veggies and tofu - so we have (from leftish to rightish): canned straw mushrooms, red pepper, yellow pepper, carrots, lime juice, jalapeno, onion, garlic, coconut milk, green chili paste, bitter greens, fresh Thai basil, and deep fried tofu. And on the tele? James Stewart from Rear Window making a great face at my culinary masterpiece.Tuesday, June 29, 2010
What's for Dinner?
So, this is a typical Thai dinner at our house - and one of those meals I LOVE to make because of all the prep. This is veggies and tofu - so we have (from leftish to rightish): canned straw mushrooms, red pepper, yellow pepper, carrots, lime juice, jalapeno, onion, garlic, coconut milk, green chili paste, bitter greens, fresh Thai basil, and deep fried tofu. And on the tele? James Stewart from Rear Window making a great face at my culinary masterpiece.
Monday, June 14, 2010
A Trippy Trip to the Post Office
Only on a Monday could this have happened...
I go to the post office to mail several packages. The woman ahead of me in line asks for a form to get a PO Box. She slowly walks away from the window as she scans the form. I step up. Valerie begins weighing my packages and affixing postage labels. Just as she is checking the zip code on the final package, the lights blip off. A brief power outage. Val looks at her computer - the machine had shut down and was rebooting. "The battery backup didn't work," she explains. "This has never happened before." She becomes quite flustered as she can only stand and wait for the computer to come back online. Other workers come and go and look over her shoulder at the situation. They've never seen this happen either. No one is quite sure what to do, and all we can do is wait for the computer to come back online.
In the meantime, the woman who took the PO Box form is back asking questions, "So if I don't have an address and I don't have a car, I can't get a PO Box?"
Val answers, "That's right. You can't get a box, but you can get...oh, what's it called...?" She turns to her co-worker, "What's that called when you can get mail without a box?"
Her co-worker answers, "General Delivery."
"Yes, that's it. General Delivery. I don't know why I couldn't think of it. This computer situation has me all flustered. You can get General Delivery, but only at the main post office across the river."
"So I can't get a PO Box?" the woman's voice is rising as she asks this question.
"No," Val responds, "not a box, but you can still get your mail General Delivery across the river. We don't have General Delivery to the branch offices."
"So I guess the homeless don't get their mail then, do they!" the woman shouts as she throws the form at Val and storms out of the post office.
"They do get it," Val calls after her, "across the river. General Delivery..." Val looks at me, "Did I explain that wrong or something?"
I assure her what she said made perfect sense, it just wasn't the answer the woman was looking for.
"It's just this computer thing has me so flustered. This has never happened before."
As she goes on apologizing, and I assure her I'm fine with waiting and that it's not her fault, the customer at the window next to me is arguing with the postal worker about how much it costs to send a box.
"It's just a jar of jam," the old man says.
"Overnight will be twenty-one dollars, express delivery is five ninety-five, and first class is five seventy."
"But it's not even worth that much. Why does it cost more to send it than it's worth?"
"The rate is based on distance and package size," the worker tells him. She is calm and patient with him. "You can have it there in two days for five ninety-five or by next week Saturday for five seventy. Those are the least expensive options."
"The five seventy, then," the old man says. Apparently it isn't worth the twenty-five cents to have it get there five days sooner.
He finishes up his transaction and leaves, and a skanky young white girl with bad piercings and worse tattoos steps up to the window with an express mail box.
Val's computer comes back online. "I'm going to have to re-enter all of the packages," she tells me.
"That's fine," I assure her, interested to hear what's going on next to me.
The young woman is sending a package she wants insured for $800. She's sending it to Nigeria. The postal worker asks if it is an item the young woman has sold for that much money. The girl tells her it is, that it's been sold, but she hasn't gotten her money yet until she provides the seller a tracking number. Flat out, the postal worker tells her, "This is a scam." She goes on to explain to the woman that the post office has had numerous complaints about such exchanges - that the seller won't give the money until they get the tracking number, but once you have a tracking number, it means the package has been sent and cannot be retrieved. She flat out tells the young woman that if the item is really worth $800, that she's not going to see her money for it. The young woman explains that it was handled on PayPal and PayPal is holding the transaction until the tracking number is put in. Again, the postal worker tells her, and now Val chimes in, that the scammers use PayPal, and that just because PayPal is being used doesn't mean it's not a scam.
The young woman's boyfriend or husband or whoever he is steps up to ask if she really wants to send it now that they've had three postal workers tell her it's a scam. The young girl tells him, "I hear what they're saying to me, but I still know I have to do this. If I lose the money, it's on me."
"Can you lose eight hundred dollars?" the postal worker asks her.
"No," the young girl says, "but I'm so desperate for money, I have no choice."
The postal worker tells her she has to do what the young girl wants, but she strongly advises against sending the object without first receiving payment. The young girl tells her she understands and proceeds to send the item.
Val finishes my transaction. There are ten people now standing in line behind me. A homeless woman is probably trudging across the bridge to see about getting her mail general delivery, all the while cussing out the postal worker who had nothing to do with government regulations. The young girl next to me is about to lose eight hundred dollars she doesn't have, and it will be on her, and she will feel a much greater sense of desperation in the ensuing days because of it. And next week Saturday, somebody is going to get a jar of jam that wasn't worth the postage it cost to send it, but that will be appreciated more than any dollar value that could be placed on it.
I go to the post office to mail several packages. The woman ahead of me in line asks for a form to get a PO Box. She slowly walks away from the window as she scans the form. I step up. Valerie begins weighing my packages and affixing postage labels. Just as she is checking the zip code on the final package, the lights blip off. A brief power outage. Val looks at her computer - the machine had shut down and was rebooting. "The battery backup didn't work," she explains. "This has never happened before." She becomes quite flustered as she can only stand and wait for the computer to come back online. Other workers come and go and look over her shoulder at the situation. They've never seen this happen either. No one is quite sure what to do, and all we can do is wait for the computer to come back online.
In the meantime, the woman who took the PO Box form is back asking questions, "So if I don't have an address and I don't have a car, I can't get a PO Box?"
Val answers, "That's right. You can't get a box, but you can get...oh, what's it called...?" She turns to her co-worker, "What's that called when you can get mail without a box?"
Her co-worker answers, "General Delivery."
"Yes, that's it. General Delivery. I don't know why I couldn't think of it. This computer situation has me all flustered. You can get General Delivery, but only at the main post office across the river."
"So I can't get a PO Box?" the woman's voice is rising as she asks this question.
"No," Val responds, "not a box, but you can still get your mail General Delivery across the river. We don't have General Delivery to the branch offices."
"So I guess the homeless don't get their mail then, do they!" the woman shouts as she throws the form at Val and storms out of the post office.
"They do get it," Val calls after her, "across the river. General Delivery..." Val looks at me, "Did I explain that wrong or something?"
I assure her what she said made perfect sense, it just wasn't the answer the woman was looking for.
"It's just this computer thing has me so flustered. This has never happened before."
As she goes on apologizing, and I assure her I'm fine with waiting and that it's not her fault, the customer at the window next to me is arguing with the postal worker about how much it costs to send a box.
"It's just a jar of jam," the old man says.
"Overnight will be twenty-one dollars, express delivery is five ninety-five, and first class is five seventy."
"But it's not even worth that much. Why does it cost more to send it than it's worth?"
"The rate is based on distance and package size," the worker tells him. She is calm and patient with him. "You can have it there in two days for five ninety-five or by next week Saturday for five seventy. Those are the least expensive options."
"The five seventy, then," the old man says. Apparently it isn't worth the twenty-five cents to have it get there five days sooner.
He finishes up his transaction and leaves, and a skanky young white girl with bad piercings and worse tattoos steps up to the window with an express mail box.
Val's computer comes back online. "I'm going to have to re-enter all of the packages," she tells me.
"That's fine," I assure her, interested to hear what's going on next to me.
The young woman is sending a package she wants insured for $800. She's sending it to Nigeria. The postal worker asks if it is an item the young woman has sold for that much money. The girl tells her it is, that it's been sold, but she hasn't gotten her money yet until she provides the seller a tracking number. Flat out, the postal worker tells her, "This is a scam." She goes on to explain to the woman that the post office has had numerous complaints about such exchanges - that the seller won't give the money until they get the tracking number, but once you have a tracking number, it means the package has been sent and cannot be retrieved. She flat out tells the young woman that if the item is really worth $800, that she's not going to see her money for it. The young woman explains that it was handled on PayPal and PayPal is holding the transaction until the tracking number is put in. Again, the postal worker tells her, and now Val chimes in, that the scammers use PayPal, and that just because PayPal is being used doesn't mean it's not a scam.
The young woman's boyfriend or husband or whoever he is steps up to ask if she really wants to send it now that they've had three postal workers tell her it's a scam. The young girl tells him, "I hear what they're saying to me, but I still know I have to do this. If I lose the money, it's on me."
"Can you lose eight hundred dollars?" the postal worker asks her.
"No," the young girl says, "but I'm so desperate for money, I have no choice."
The postal worker tells her she has to do what the young girl wants, but she strongly advises against sending the object without first receiving payment. The young girl tells her she understands and proceeds to send the item.
Val finishes my transaction. There are ten people now standing in line behind me. A homeless woman is probably trudging across the bridge to see about getting her mail general delivery, all the while cussing out the postal worker who had nothing to do with government regulations. The young girl next to me is about to lose eight hundred dollars she doesn't have, and it will be on her, and she will feel a much greater sense of desperation in the ensuing days because of it. And next week Saturday, somebody is going to get a jar of jam that wasn't worth the postage it cost to send it, but that will be appreciated more than any dollar value that could be placed on it.
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