Going Postal

I'm standing in line at my local post office. I know all the clerks and managers, even though I rarely come in here. A portly white guy in shorts and sandals with socks is speaking, very agitatedly, with one of the clerks. His loud voice is the only one heard in the small space.

"I am trying to find out what has happened to this package. I used to work for the post office. According to YOUR TRACKING CODE, this package NEVER LEFT THIS BUILDING. It was supposed to go to Anchorage, Alaska. But my friend in Alaska went TODAY to her post office box to retrieve this package and THIS IS THE INFORMATION SHE RECEIVED. I WANT TO KNOW WHAT THE U.S. POSTAL SERVICE HAS DONE WITH THIS PACKAGE."

The clerk responds, quietly, examining the sheet of paper the man has been waving.

"I WANT YOU TO CHECK YOUR WAREHOUSE. I WANT TO SPEAK TO YOUR MANAGER." He's nearly apoplectic.

Finally, the manager comes over. She's a woman with a mellifluous voice who always wishes customers "a blessed day." The clerk tries explaining: "She says the package did not leave but we show the package went to Alaska."

"I AM NOT A SHE. I AM A HE. I AM SO SICK OF DEALING WITH U.S. GOVERNMENT EMPLOYEES WHO CANNOT EVEN SPEAK THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE."

"Sir, can you step over to this window while I go look for your package?" asks the manager. He does so and she disappears through a passageway.

He pulls out his cellphone, dials and pauses until it connects.

"Hey. Yeah, I'm here at the post office," he says, at the same volume he'd been using before. "Yeah, it's so frustrating. I can't believe how INCOMPETENT these people are. Yes, I told them I used to work for the U.S. postal service." He pauses, looks through the window, and sighs loudly. "I know, I know. All I am trying to do is figure out WHAT HAPPENED TO MY FUCKING CHEESECAKE."