Primitive place, primitive people

There certainly is an old-world charm about post-offices and their antediluvian work practices.  If you are unhappy about the modernization drive around yourself, and complain that people – and institutions – are playing fast and loose, step into a post-office.  You will no longer complain.

A couple of days ago, I was at a post office to get my PPF validity period extended for five more years.  There were not even ten people in the queue. On the other side of the crude partition in front of us was a staid old gentleman sitting behind a four-legged, ink-stained object which might, a quarter century ago, have passed for a table, with a peculiar-looking contraption swinging above his head producing more noise than air. There were, however, two things in this primitive environment which sat oddly with the people and the things around them: a computer and a franking-machine. On closer inspection, however, there seemed nothing odd about them.  A Dot-Matrix printer was attached to the computer – what a perfect combination for this exotic locale! – and the franking-machine, for good measure, was non-functional.

For well over twenty minutes, the line didn’t move an inch. For want of anything better, I started watching the activities at the neighbouring counter where a young clerk, who looked well-fed and contented, was registering letters at a leisurely pace. Each customer had his article weighed and bought the required stamps. After sticking the stamps, he stood in the line again to have the articles registered. The clerk wrote a composition about each article on a printed form and then disfigured the composition and virtually tore the receipt by stamping on it with a new-found vigour. After this sudden spurt of momentary robustness, he swung back to his self-indulgent writing. If patience, I reflected, is a virtue, post-offices contribute a lot to it by teaching people how to be patient.  You may be – you are! – impatient on the road, but in a post-office, your behaviour would try the patience of  a Job.

‘Mmm…’ This threatening growl was emerging from the staid old gentleman. He was now peering at me through his bifocals. I handed in my application and passbook.

‘No!’ he snorted when he ran his eye over the application. ‘Extension not possible. You may open a new account.’ He threw the application and the passbook in front of me.

“It is possible,’ I said trying not to let my irritation show. ‘It has been possible four times so far. Why don’t you take a look at the PPF rules on your website?’

‘Rules?’ he grunted, looking at me with disdain. Then he turned to the well-fed young man at the next counter and mumbled something. The young man checked the website with an impassive face and turned the monitor towards him.

There was a note of embarrassment on the staid visage now. ‘Extension is possible,’ he drawled in a placatory tone. The voice had turned into a hoarse croak. But, when he continued after a brief pause, he became the ranting, domineering bully he was. ‘But it cannot be done here. You have to go to the head post office.’ The words had a tone of finality.

‘Perhaps I must ask the postmaster general to speak you,’ I said. ‘Then you will realize that it is possible in your own post office.’ I took out my mobile phone wondering who the PMG was and whether the official belonged to the male or female division of the species. 

The man stood up. He was no longer a bully. His face looked pale and drawn. ‘Sir,’ he said lowering his voice until it was barely audible and addressing me with respect for the first time, ‘The plain fact is that I don’t know how to do it. None of us here has the technical knowledge required for it. But I’ll find out how it should be done from the head post office and do it. If you could come at 3 o’clock in the afternoon…’  He still stood twisting his hands together nervously.

If, earlier, I had been outraged by the man’s arrogance and his dismissive attitude, I was now disgusted by his abject apology and self-abasing posture. I stared at him with total contempt for a minute. Then I came out.