As I approach the counter the Post Office girl is rolling a ciggy. She tuts and says, "God, every time I try and roll one somebody turns up"
"Can I send these please?" I ask.
"If you really want to," she huffs.
There's a bit of confusion over prices, it seems very expensive at £27. "How much does it weigh?" I ask. "A kilogram isn't it?"
"No it's more than that, it's 940 grammes."
So I explain that I'd like to send this parcel by airmail economy. "Oh, ecom... ecomo... e...c...o...m...ony is eight pounds."
A couple of parcels later and I'm done. I just need proof of postage.
"I hate doing this bit," she grumbles. Then after staring at a parcel for an uncomfortable length of time she says, "Which word is the country on this parcel's address?"
"France."
And so on. Wish it wasn't all true.
"Can I send these please?" I ask.
"If you really want to," she huffs.
There's a bit of confusion over prices, it seems very expensive at £27. "How much does it weigh?" I ask. "A kilogram isn't it?"
"No it's more than that, it's 940 grammes."
So I explain that I'd like to send this parcel by airmail economy. "Oh, ecom... ecomo... e...c...o...m...ony is eight pounds."
A couple of parcels later and I'm done. I just need proof of postage.
"I hate doing this bit," she grumbles. Then after staring at a parcel for an uncomfortable length of time she says, "Which word is the country on this parcel's address?"
"France."
And so on. Wish it wasn't all true.

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