Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Blog 14: Everyone cries in their post office sometimes…
So the Praha 5 post office has officially dominated me AGAIN. Rude. So I decided to bravely face Praha 5 again to try and retrieve my package on Tuesday. (I had to wait a few days to write this because it was a little too emotional at the time hahahahah) So, I had the afternoon off of Tuesday, so I decided to go try and find the post office again.
Last week I went to the post office right around the corner from my school and begged them to either get my package (they promptly, but nicely said no way) or give me directions. They at least were helpful in giving me clearer directions this time. So I braved my way to Andel (Praha 5) and hopped off the metro. Walked the ten minutes to the tram and hopped on. I rode the tram for a while until I SAW the post office. At this point it was 4:50, I was like freaking out because most places in the states close at 5 and I had no idea how late they were open. So its 4:54 by the time I get off the tram and I TAKE OFF running trying to get to the post office before 5. I run (notice I said RUN. I am NOT A RUNNER. By any stretch of the imagination. I don’t even exercise. Please picture me running down the streets of Prague with my little gladiator sandals flopping against the sidewalk. Hilarious sight to see.) So I RUN for like two minutes and don’t pass the post office. I must have accidentally gone down a side street (the streets here are so tricky, and they will like parallel each other then slide into one another and it’s all very confusing…) so anyways I bombard this poor lady who has just hopped off a bus and (out of breath, mind you) say “promingte!!! Kde je posta??” and she just stares. “posta??” I KNOW that is the right word and kde je (sounds like g’day ya) means where is, so I know im on the right track… “post??...” im sure she was just thinking who is this crazy sweaty girl yelling at me? She smiles, “uhh…” I cant do anything but keep repeating posta. Finally she says “ooh, posta?” (she pronounces it with a long shhh in the middle, silly me) “ano!! Ano!!! Kde je??” I exclaim. She motions, “the blue building one street over.” So, she speaks English. Awesome. I just embarrassed myself trying to speak my broken Czech and she understood English the whole time. I thanked her profusely and I take off RUNNING again to the next side street over.
I see it! The promise land! I run up to the building, the doors are still open! “Promingte! Promingte! Posta, Promingte!” I yell as im running up. (translation: please! Please! Post office, please!) Hallelujah! As I burst through the doors (in my head I was sure I was going to run up to the door as the man closes it and locks it and just laughs in my face) I startle a room of people sitting quietly waiting in line. As I am BRIGHT RED in the face, panting, and fanning myself, I carefully pick my line. There are five available; the one I finally choose has people holding and receiving packages. Score! The older ladies in front of me keep turning around and smiling and then snickering to each other. Yes, I know im quite a sight to see, panting, fanning myself, and my gray American Apparel V-neck isn’t hiding the sweat running down my back very well. Oh, so attractive. I politely smile and give a small chuckle, I know I look so silly, yes im American, yes this is so funny for you…
So I wait the 30 minutes in line and finally get up to the window. People all around me were bustling and speaking in Czech and different people would jump to the front of the line unbeknownst to me, so I just wait patiently until I get to the front window. I finally get up there and slide the letter the posta sent to me under the partition. “Dobry den!” I say. (Good day). The postal worker just looks at the letter and shakes his head. He starts yammering on in Czech. Great. I slowly explain to him in Czech that I don’t understand (one of my other few phrases I can say). “Anglitsky?” I ask. Is it too much to ask that these people in a foreign country speak my native language? Please, I didn’t think so. He nods that he understands that I am incompetent and tries to break it down. “Third floor. Internaaaaational Post.” He looks at me like a four year old child would have known that. “Oh great! Ill run up there” I reply. “no! no! it closes at 15:30 each day! (you dumb American girl)” I look at the clock. It’s 17:30, its CLOSED. “Are you serious?! I traveled like an hour to get here, is there ANYTHING you can do?!” “Nope.” I start crying.
Yes, right there in front of the begrudgingly charming (ha) postal worker. He just stared awkwardly. Hahahahaha so after he convinces me that there is seriously nothing he can do, the third floor is locked, I slowly retreat. I walk out on the sidewalk and start balling. Yes, people and people alike from all corners of the street ARE staring. Hahah. So rather than taking the tram I walked the half an hour back to the metro and called my mom crying to vent. It had just been a really emotional week with school (im super duper stressed out) and missing my friends and family from home, so I just wanted my monogrammed down comforter (legit one of my favorite things) to make me feel better and they locked it in the post office. So after a walk and a metro ride home (and of course a good cry) I felt a little better and am determined now more than ever to get my package from that post office. I’m sure I gave that postal worker a great story to share in the break room. We cant be strong all the time anyways, every once and a while a girl just needs to breakdown and cry in her post office.
Love love love from Prague!
(there Devon, i edited it so you can read it in precious paragraphs)