Dear Postal Worker Donning 3 Inch Electric Blue Press On Nails,
I miss you. The monotone way you say, "next person in line." Your deadpan stare through the cloudy bullet proof glass window. When I ask you for African American Heritage stamps you sigh because you don't have any at your station. But that's okay. I enjoy the way in which you remain seated, first rolling your eyes and then rolling your chair 4ft across the room, using your talon-like hands to reach them for me. Graceful. It's like having a front row seat at Postal Workers on Ice and you're the star. Yeah, I said it. You're a star! You dazzle me by adding up my transaction ever so slowly, placing my stamps in the sleek cellophane envelop and then you slide them under the slot without scratching me with those striking electric blue nails. I thank you and walk away unscathed, happy that I was able to spend 15 minutes with you. Yep, 15 minutes for some stamps.
I'm looking forward to visiting you again during the holiday season. I can't wait to see what color your nails will be; Christmas colors, Hanukkah colors or maybe a Kwanzaa theme. It doesn't matter because I'll drop in to buy some holiday stamps and maybe, just maybe, I'll ask for another book of African American Heritage stamps just to see you glide your chair across the room for old times sake. I would appreciate that.
Thank you Postal Worker Donning 3 Inch Electric Blue Press On Nails and thank you United States Postal Service for all the good times.