Gloria at the Post Office

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Gloria at the Post Office

Debbie slid the car into the post office lot like she was docking a ship. She squinted through the windshield, scanning for a spot that wouldn’t require Gloria to walk more than ten steps. “Alright, Miss Gloria, this should be in-and-out. We just mail your package and get back before the ice cream decides to become soup.”

Gloria unfastened her seatbelt with the theatrical sigh of a woman preparing for battle. “Sweetie, there is no such thing as in-and-out at the post office. You walk in for a single stamp, and you leave an hour later knowing someone’s medical history, their cat’s nickname, and how they make their chili. If we’re lucky, we’ll get out of here before Christmas.”

Debbie grinned despite herself. “No detours. Just your sister’s fudge. Promise me.”

“My famous fudge,” Gloria corrected, her voice dipping into pride. “Two hours of my life, one minor kitchen fire, and the tragic loss of a perfectly good wooden spoon. And now, thanks to postage rates, it’s officially the most expensive box of sugar in Arizona.”

Debbie held up Gloria’s black cardigan. “You want your sweater?”

Gloria waved it off. “No, sugar. I’m already layered like a wedding cake. One more thing on me and I’ll melt before the clerk weighs the box.”

📦 The Package Problem

The moment they stepped inside, the post office swallowed them into its own peculiar ecosystem.

A toddler in a bright yellow raincoat was twirling in dizzy circles. An elderly man, propped on a cane, was holding an impromptu audience hostage with a story about “the big trout of ’76.”

And directly in front of Gloria stood a tall man in a scuffed leather jacket, holding a suspiciously lumpy package.

Gloria leaned toward Debbie, whispering at a volume that could have carried to the back wall.

“He’s either mailing watermelons or smuggling them under that coat.”

The man turned, offering a patient smile.

“Ma’am, they’re just books.”

“Books, my foot. I’ve seen that belly before—it’s pure barbecue season. You should meet my Uncle Ray; he wore the same shape every July.”

Debbie lowered her eyes, half-praying the floor would swallow them. “Gloria…”

💌 Flirtation at the Counter

At last, Gloria’s turn arrived. She approached the counter like she owned stock in the building and set her box on the scale as if it were the crown jewels.

“Careful, sugar,” she said to the young clerk. “That’s pure joy in a cardboard box. And possibly a mild diabetic coma.”

The clerk—sandy-haired, brown-eyed, with a grin that came easy—typed into his computer. “Fragile, then?”

“Fragile and priceless. Same as me.”

He smirked. “Any liquids, perishables, or dangerous goods inside?”

Gloria tilted her head, smiling slyly. “Only if you consider my charm hazardous. Which—under certain lighting—it is.”

Debbie pressed her lips together, her shoulders already tightening for whatever Gloria would say next.

The clerk asked, “Where’s it going?”

“To my sister in Arizona. Sending this is like tossing a snowball into the desert—gone before it even lands.”

📮 The Great Stamp Debate

While the clerk worked, Gloria’s eyes landed on the wall of commemorative stamps. Her finger shot out like she’d spotted buried treasure.

“Oh! Elvis Presley stamps. I’ll take those.”

Debbie raised an eyebrow. “Your sister doesn’t even like Elvis.”

“These aren’t for her. They’re for me. I’m going to put them on my bathroom mirror so Elvis can wink at me every morning. Now that’s a man who could wear a sweater without overheating.”

The clerk slid the stamps to her. “Anything else today?”

Gloria gave him a once-over. “Well… unless you’re offering a dance, I think that’ll be all.”

⏳ The Waiting Game

Behind them, the line had turned restless. A woman with three gigantic boxes tapped her foot like she was keeping time for a marching band. A teenager in headphones was swaying to music only he could hear.

Gloria glanced back and sighed. “You know, Debbie, people used to talk in line. We swapped recipes, we told jokes, sometimes we even set each other up with our cousins. Now everybody’s hypnotized by those little glowing rectangles, waiting for divine inspiration to text them.”

Debbie took her arm. “Come on, before you start a block party in here.”

🚗 Back to the Car

The sun had warmed the pavement, and the scent of freshly cut grass drifted through the lot. As they neared the car, Gloria spotted the leather-jacket man again, loading his truck.

She cupped her hands and called out, “Hey, Watermelon Belly! If you ever need bubble wrap, I’ve got plenty!”

He laughed over his shoulder. “Only if it comes with fudge!”

Gloria’s eyes twinkled. “Debbie, I like the post office. I think I’ll start mailing myself here once a week.”

Debbie shook her head, smiling. “You can’t mail yourself, Gloria.”

“Oh, sure I can. You slap on a label that says ‘Handle with Care—Contents Flirtatious’ and ship me Priority Mail.”

🎯 Gloria’s Final Word

In the car, Gloria smoothed her skirt and stared fondly at the brick building. “People think the grocery store’s the prime spot for meeting someone interesting, but I’m telling you—the post office is the real goldmine. Everyone’s here for a reason. Everyone’s got a story. And no one’s moving fast enough to dodge a conversation. Where else can you flirt, shop for Elvis stamps, and accuse a stranger of smuggling produce—all in under an hour?”

Debbie started the engine. “Let’s get the ice cream home before it turns into pudding.”

Gloria settled back in her seat, satisfied. “Fine. But next week, I’m bringing a bigger box. That way, I can send my sister fudge and a little bit of Elvis. Call it cultural enrichment.”

The car rolled away under the golden wash of late-afternoon sunlight. Gloria let out a small, contented sigh.

“Ah, the post office… romance, conversation, and Priority Mail—what more could a girl ask for?”