Postalphobia

Everyone seems to have left town for the weekend! There are parking spaces everywhere, the sidewalks are quiet, and I expect at any moment to have a tumbleweed blow across my path.
I had to buy stamps today. I've been putting it off all week. Somehow it is really difficult for me to get my ass to the post office; the constrictive hours, the bad locations. Since I put this task off til Saturday around 1pm, I soon found most branches closed and my only hope was the central post office for the city of Philadelphia on Market st. It is an enormous building and you kind of get to know by living here that that's what it is, but I don't think it says anywhere on the outside of the building that it's the post office! Nor is the entrance indicated clearly. Finally, I circled the monster enough times to find the entrance and the handy fifteen minute parking right in front, which are hidden from street traffic by food carts of marvelous variety. My anxiety began to calm. As I entered I was warned in writing not to bring in pets, bikes or explosives, as though these three things belong to the same category: things you might have with you when you stop by the post office. Inside it was like a museum or a church, hushed and dark. Most of the action was at the passport window. At the far end of the long, tall hallway were the windows for mailing packages etc. Starkly juxtaposed to the grimey antiquity of the rest of the building was the cheery and well-lit Postal Store. All manner of philatellic memorabilia hangs from the walls along with plain old, everyday, stick-and-send stamps. That's all I wanted. I picked some that commemorate childrens book characters, paid, and was on my way. I don't think I'm afraid of buying stamps anymore!