A Fable of Patience
Here's a lovely story. A story of Development and Progress.
Once upon a time when I lived in Makarska, the post office (Posta - with a 'sh' on the 's') was one of those modernised places with a line two meters back from the counter - it was called (in Croatian) the 'red line of integrity' - a precursor to teaching queueing where such a skill had been hitherto absent. From my recollection, it worked very nicely. People queued.
Fast forward 13 years.
Today I went into the Posta. My ATD (attention to detail) momentarily missed the machine by the entry - I was standing in the queue wondering what the board with numbers on it was, and what the slips of paper in peoples hands were. Silly me.
The process is to select the service that you want in the Posta - push that button and then wait for your number to come up on the board to tell you which teller to go to. Great system. Unparalleled efficiency. I did the right thing, and pushed the button for 'picking up and sending parcels'. My slip was D015. Exhibit A.
But here's the thing. Although I could see two tellers, one was intent on ignoring the gathering crowd, and the other only acknowledged you when your number came up on the board. I waited for 30 minutes as the numbers came up on the board - it made no difference what you came in there for, only teller 3 was serving people. Slowly.
I turned to the young woman next to me and muttered 'this is ridiculous' to which she muttered 'there is only ever one teller open'. To which I whispered ' Are we invisible?' and then added 'I'm going to shoot myself in the face' which made her burst out laughing. Everyone looked.
Her number was next - I whispered again - 'please tell teller 3 that I am going to shoot myself in the face - and that the rest of the queue are now covered in cobwebs'. She grinned.
I waited for two more numbers to be called before mine. The teller weighed my package (excess baggage being posted home) told me the price (asked 'is that ok? to which I said 'no' ('just joking' I said), and my job was done.
Cost of the mailing? 300 kuna. Value of the experience? Priceless.
Once upon a time when I lived in Makarska, the post office (Posta - with a 'sh' on the 's') was one of those modernised places with a line two meters back from the counter - it was called (in Croatian) the 'red line of integrity' - a precursor to teaching queueing where such a skill had been hitherto absent. From my recollection, it worked very nicely. People queued.
Fast forward 13 years.
Today I went into the Posta. My ATD (attention to detail) momentarily missed the machine by the entry - I was standing in the queue wondering what the board with numbers on it was, and what the slips of paper in peoples hands were. Silly me.
The process is to select the service that you want in the Posta - push that button and then wait for your number to come up on the board to tell you which teller to go to. Great system. Unparalleled efficiency. I did the right thing, and pushed the button for 'picking up and sending parcels'. My slip was D015. Exhibit A.
But here's the thing. Although I could see two tellers, one was intent on ignoring the gathering crowd, and the other only acknowledged you when your number came up on the board. I waited for 30 minutes as the numbers came up on the board - it made no difference what you came in there for, only teller 3 was serving people. Slowly.
I turned to the young woman next to me and muttered 'this is ridiculous' to which she muttered 'there is only ever one teller open'. To which I whispered ' Are we invisible?' and then added 'I'm going to shoot myself in the face' which made her burst out laughing. Everyone looked.
Her number was next - I whispered again - 'please tell teller 3 that I am going to shoot myself in the face - and that the rest of the queue are now covered in cobwebs'. She grinned.
I waited for two more numbers to be called before mine. The teller weighed my package (excess baggage being posted home) told me the price (asked 'is that ok? to which I said 'no' ('just joking' I said), and my job was done.
Cost of the mailing? 300 kuna. Value of the experience? Priceless.
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