Several months ago, I needed to mail a book to a friend. Not having a plethora of packing supplies in my office, and being tight on cash at the time, I put the book in a box I had lying around from my last mail order, and taped it with scotch tape. It was a pretty shotty tape job if I do say so myself, but I figured I could reinforce it at the post office. I was running out the door to a doctor’s appointment, I had a headache, and I needed to get the box in the mail ASAP.The line at the post office was long. Like forty-five minutes long.When I finally got to the counter, the gentleman behind it — a sixty-something Chinese man — asked me if I wanted to send it First Class or Priority Mail. I’m the first to admit I don’t know the difference between those two, considering I only need to go to the post office about once a year. But I didn’t care if the book took two weeks to get to the east coast — it just needed to get there eventually. So I asked, “What’s the cheapest way to send it?” His expression changed and he looked annoyed. “What’s in it?” he asked.”A book.” “You can send it media mail for four dollars.” “Okay, I’ll do that. Do you have any packing tape I can use?” His expression changed again, this time to anger. “No, we do not have any tape you can use. The post office is a business and we can’t just give things away. There’s some over there you can buy for three dollars, but there’s none for free.” He kept ranting. “The post office loses money all the time on cheap mail and giving things away. If we don’t make money, we can’t stay in business and mail your letters.” His face was turning red. “This is a business just like any other business. You can buy the tape or you can send it like this, but we do not have tape that you can use for free. Nothing is free.”I listened quietly and threw in the occasional “okay…,” trying to slow him down and let him know I heard him. But he went on for what seemed like forever, and I had to stand there and bear the attack. What an awful man. So grumpy. How could he treat me like this? Doesn’t he know I waited in line for so long, and that I’m late for my appointment? I was all ready to buy some tape when he took the box out of my hands and tossed it roughly into the bin behind him. I was too shocked by the whole experience to argue.On my way out, I called my friend. “I sent you the book… but the box is barely taped, so I hope it’s still in it when it arrives. Long story. I hate the post office.”So why am I telling this story? Because this morning, I had to go to the same post office to pick up a package. The same man was behind the counter, and i froze with fear when I saw him. But he was helping a very quirky elderly woman in a red sweatsuit, and he was smiling. Laughing. “Do you need stamps today?” “Oh, yes! Please show me what you have! I love your stamps!””Well, we have the superhero ones. Have you seen these yet?””Oh, those are darling! Look at the detail on their faces. I hadn’t seen those before! Give me two books of them! What else do you have?”She probably bought five books of stamps, and made him feel incredibly important in the whole process. He had the biggest grin on his face, and kept laughing at her exclamations of appreciation. I was next in line. I marched up with a smile and started by asking how he was doing. He kept grinning and laughing and talking about all the stamps she bought. I think he literally skipped to the back room to grab my package, and you should have seen the beam in his face when he asked me, “Do you need any stamps today?”I smiled and laughed. “No, I’m still working through the last ones you sold me!” He didn’t sell me my last set of stamps. But he believed he did, and it added to his sense of pride in his sales. He straightened right up, smiled, and said, “Alright, you have a great day.”It’s amazing. Truly amazing. The effect you can have on people when you show them you care about what matters to them. I have a lot to learn from that quirky old lady. I wonder if she gives lessons.
Posted in Personal | 
2 Comments » | July 31st, 2006
The crowd was about 150 bored and irritated San Francisco residents. The crowd was business executives, construction workers, stay at home moms, trendy students, desk clerks, and tired seniors. The crowd was reading newspapers, napping, staring off into space, and playing tetris on their cell phones. The crowd was sitting in a room that looked like a bank lobby on steroids with pictures of the constitution on one wall, and artsy etchings of faceless white men with curly white wigs on the other. About 20 minutes passed before I heard a man at a microphone speak. “Welcome to the Superior Courthouse and thank you for fulfilling your obligation for jury service.” Oh, great! I’ve fulfilled it! I can leave now!, I thought. Did you know thoughts can be sarcastic? Anyway, the introduction commenced. San Francisco has a “One Day or One Trial” policy. This means you show up for the first day of your jury duty. If you don’t get assigned to a trial that day, you’re done. If you get assigned to a trial and it ends that day, you’re done. Most trials are no more than a few days. A week max. Jury duty is easy and fun. It’s about serving your country. It gives you a feeling of satisfaction. In short, Please don’t walk out of this room right now. We know you hate it, but please for the love of god just suck it up.They told us it would be awhile before the judge required our presence. I leaned back and pulled out my Treo to catch up on my email and pass the time — only to find that there was no cell phone service in this armored basement room. And suddenly, panic set in.Two hours passed, and the crowd went from bored to cranky. Eventually the announcer called a long list of names, mine included, and told us to go to the sixth floor to see the judge. Picture a miniature court room, and 80 cranky misplaced civilians sitting in every chair they can possibly cram inside it. Picture a geeky guy with black plastic frame glasses asking us to swear we’re going to tell the absolute truth (and nothing but the truth!) about our qualifications as jurors, so help us god. Picture a friendly blonde woman who starts her name with “The Honorable,” sitting at the front of the room in a black robe, explaining that this will not be your average civil trial.This will be a criminal trial.This trial will last four weeks. Picture 80 cranky misplaced civilians wincing in unison. The Honorable goes on to explain that if you have serious, legally-arguable hardship associated with serving for that long, you won’t have to serve. And if you know any of the witnesses, you won’t be able to serve. And this trial deals with an event that was in the local news, and if you followed that story carefully by the media, you may not be able to serve. And this trial deals with a particular event that many people have a phobia of or serious bias against, and if you do, you won’t be able to serve. Picture 65 cranky misplaced civillians sigh with relief.Picture your hero, Sarah Dopp, with a panicked look in her eyes, as she realizes that she’s in the minority group of fearless and ignorant jurors who don’t have any major conflict with living in a courthouse for a month. I will find out on Thursday if I’m needed to serve.Aaaaaannd… I’m freaking out.