I had a run in with a completely crazy woman this weekend at none other than the post office. Why is it that post offices always attract all the weirdos?

Saturday morning found us at the post office in Redmond, WA. We were there to get Maya’s passport renewed. Since this particular post office has a special room for passport stuff and requires an appointment we were standing outside the door of this room waiting our turn. The line for regular post office business ran along beside us. The people in line were all regular people waiting their turn to take care of their necessary post office business so they could carry on with their Saturday. Maya was off by the greeting cards rack checking out all the different cards and I was holding Anna while talking to Lorne. A few customers were chatting with one another and everyone was just minding their own business while patiently waiting their turn.

All that changed when a woman, probably in her late 50s or early 60s came storming into the post office shouting about where in the hell she was supposed to pick up registered mail. She was clearly irate. She stormed passed Lorne and I into the passport room and quickly turned around when she realized she was in the wrong spot. She stood behind me continuing to shout about getting registered mail. The next thing I knew I felt a rather hard smack on the back of my arm. This woman had hit me…HIT ME…with her purse. I turned around and said something along the lines of “Um, excuse me!”, what I really wanted to say was not appropriate to say around my children (or a good example). She gave me a dirty look and then proceeding to continue to throw her purse around, knocking over displays and breaking a shelf off the wall. Maya was cleared scared and kept asking me if I was ok. I was just very thankful I was standing in such a way that her purse hit my arm and not Anna.

Finally the woman left, screaming the whole way out of the building about registered mail and how much her life sucks. We thought we had seen the last of her when two gentleman came inside talking about this crazy lady out in the parking lot beating her purse against, what they hoped, was her car. I knew she was bound to come back inside, and she did. She stood uncomfortably close to me and said “Sorry, where the hell do I pick up registered mail.” Her apology was clearly not sincere, but, whatever. I calmly explained to her that she was in the wrong line, we were waiting for passports and she needed the line for regular post office business. I kindly pointed her in the right direction and then stood there listening to her carry on and on about her registered mail and how horrible her life is. A few other customers tried to calm her down by talking to her but it didn’t work.

As we sat in the passport room taking care of Maya’s passport renewal I could still hear her carrying on in the line just outside the door. She was still there when we left. I’m not sure if she ever did her get register mail. I feel bad for the poor postal worker that had to actually deal with her.

Nothing like an a run in with a crazy at the post office to start your Saturday off right.

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