post offices

I packed things in a box to be sent to Taipei.
I checked online for the office hours of the nearest office in my neighborhood. It said that the office hours were 8:30 am to 5pm. Well, I leave home before 8:30 and come back after 5, so I decided that office was useless for me.
Therefore, I checked online to locate an office near the research center. Cool, I found one quite close. I did not bother to check the office hours because I was sure that I would go there during lunch break.
In the morning, I went to the hospital at Saddle Brook, and the patient's therapy schedule had just changed, meaning I could not work with him. I left the hospital, and before heading to the highway, I took Bungbung for some gas. Oh, there was a post office across the street from the gas station! I had not noticed it for the past two years.
It was a couple minutes past 9am. I supposed the office was open. So I went, and the sign of the door said it would not open until 10am. I stared at the sign for a minute and decided that post officers here had nicer morning rest than me. Oh well, I drove toward West Orange and planned to go to the post office there by 10am instead of 12.

I arrived there 10 before 10. It was closed. It would not open until 10am. A woman was waiting in front of the door. She told me that somehow post offices have changed their office hours everywhere. She also told me that the door would not open before 10am and would very possibly open later than 10am.
I listened to her and decided that nowadays post officers everywhere had nicer morning rest than most of people. Oh well, I did not want to wait and returned to my office.

Around 2:30, I finished work in Saddle Brook. Yes, I did drive back there to work with the patient.
I went to the post office that I first visited in the morning. The officer was a nice lady, directing me to put the box in a thick bullet-proof transparent chamber which she could not open her side until I closed my side. Wow.. that was rather impressive. She and I talked through a small hole on the thick bullet-proof transparent window. I never thought being in a post office could feel like being in a savings bank.
The lady told me that the box was just over the 4lb limit for about 11 Oz, meaning that it could not go as a first-class but a priority. That is, I had to pay $42 dollars and no less. She checked the weight for 3 times and showed the sorry face to me for 3 times. I was like... what can I do? I cannot open the box and take things out.

Before I paid, she was typing. Probably 5 to 10 minutes later, she printed a little piece of paper to me, stating that even without buying any insurance, my box was insured. I was like "thanks. cool." That paper did not contain any information about the box, the sender, or the receiver.
Some time later, she finished typing and started stamping on documents and the box. I paid. She provided me a receipt. I asked her how am I supposed to use that little piece of paper for insurance if I cannot track the box at all? She thought a bit and answered "I don't quite really know, but I hope you don't have to use that piece of paper at all."
I hesitated for my next question, but I eventually just said "thank you for your help." I left and got back to my work.

My memory of post offices in America is quite funny, frustrating, and adventurous. The funny post office was in Penn State. The officers there were jokers. The two men made the place loud, colorful, musical, helpful and exciting. One of the funny guys were laid off before I graduated, however, for the budget cut in the post office. There was even a campaign for saving him.
The frustrating office was in South Orange. I always stood in line no matter what time of the day I went. I tried super early (8:30) or mid-day (10-ish, 12-ish, 2-ish). It was not just waiting but long waiting. I witnessed an old lady faint and fall to the floor!
Now the adventurous office ..... dah lah.... was in Saddle Brook! Clean, nice, and bullet-proof.