Tales of the Russian Post Office #1

Russia... why queue anywhere for 10 minutes when you can wait for over an hour? I'm beginning to suspect that if there were bread queues in the Soviet Union, it wasn’t for the lack of it but for the inefficiency of people serving.

I had received a slip to collect a parcel from the post office and, my working hours clashing with theirs, a reminder was duly sent. Finally I got the chance to go. I waited, slip in hand, and waited. I twiddled my thumbs and sighed despairingly. When I was bored of that, and of looking around at the bleak decor, I twiddled and sighed some more.

Seventy-odd minutes later, I presented my slip. My curiosity was about to be satisfied. Off she went, slip in hand, returning with a parcel clearly addressed in English to a colleague. She walked past and tried to scan the barcode. She turned to a colleague, complaining, “It’s not reading it.” Interrupting her persistent, futile attempts I caught her attention, “It’s... excuse me... it’s not my parcel!” She continued trying. “It’s not mine!” I pointed to the names in my passport and on the parcel. I said to look at the name on the slip, which she did, then she asked, “Do you both work at the school of foreign languages?” “Yes” She scribbled out my name, and to my complete disbelief, replaced it with that of the school. She brought it to the serving hatch and demanded that I pay however many roubles for storage. “It’s not mine!” “You have to pay x roubles!” “Why do I have to pay if it’s not mine?” After god-knows how long of this debate going around in circles, she sighed, mumbled and grumbled then slammed the parcel across the counter.

Off I went and delivered the parcel to the correct recipient. “Oh thanks, mate!” At least someone was pleased.


Elsewhere in the blog...
Russian Post Office Tips
Tales #2