Scene in an office supply store: I’m ordering a new desk chair. They don’t have any armless desk chairs in the store, so I’m ordering online in the store. Free shipping. Hard to hate.
Checking to make sure I can return it to the store if my butt doesn’t like it. The duct tape on the old chair should last till the new one gets here.
Man [interrupting employee helping me]: Sir, I need a mailbox. Where is the one in this store?
Employee: We don’t accept letters, we do UPS.
Man: That is not the same?Employee: ? ? ?
Me: This store does UPS. The post office is USPS. It’s different.
Man: Oh! So, no post box here?
Employee: Nope. [Goes back to helping me with order.]
Man: [Looks at letter, not having an answer . . .]
Me: There is a post office at 7th Ave., just south of Indian School. If you aren’t going that way, I am. I can take it for you.
Man: [Looking confused.] Why would you do that?
Me: I’m going to the grocery store. I’ll drive right past the post office. I’ll be happy to take it.
Man: But why? What do you expect from me?
Me: Nothing. But I realize that handing over a letter to a stranger can feel odd. So I won’t be upset if you decide not to.
Man: You would take this to the post office just because I need it done?
Me: Yes. It is on my way to the grocery store. I would be happy to do it, it is easy to help.
Employee: I’d trust her. She’s funny and lives close and is here a lot.
Man: I will do it! [He then hands me the letter, which I take with both hands for cultural reasons he will understand. It shows respect.]He then takes both of my hands and kisses the backs of them. I smile. He smiles. The employee smiles. And the letter got mailed.