I Would Rather Gouge My Own Eyeballs Out With A Dull Butter Knife Than Go To The Van Brunt Post Office In Brooklyn

or "Van Brunt Station is the Worst Post Office on the Planet"
or "How I Spent My Saturday Morning."

Let it be said: I love almost everything about my neighborhood except for my local post office.

We have to get expedited passports for Steph and the kids due to a potential trip to Ireland in February. It takes two weeks, so we're running out of time. So this week I spent a lot of time getting together all the required documentation, filling out the applications, getting passport photos, etc. This ain't cheap either - four expedited passports will cost about five hundred smackaroos.

So I get all my crap together and check the State Department website to find out where I can apply, preferably on the weekend, since the kids will have to apply in person. Luckily, my local post office (Van Brunt Station) accepts applications as follows:



It's in the sixties this morning, so I hate to drag us all down to the post office, but it has to be done. It should also be noted that I dread going to Van Brunt Station anyway. The customer service is notoriously terrible there. They don't know how to manage a queue, so there are usually two or three nebulous groups of confused people waiting to go to mysteriously unmarked windows for services unknown. If you are lucky, you can get through one of the lines in 30-45 minutes. But that time is spent smashed into a smallish room with dozens of other rightfully angry and impatient Brooklynites. When you finally make it to the window, you are greeted by someone who must have just been kicked right in the face by somebody who looks exactly like you. The thing I don't understand is how someone can be so terribly angry and still move slower than molasses in January...

(This is not to even mention the mail delivery problems. Almost weekly, I get some mail that belongs to my neighbors. If a box is too big to put in our mailbox, the mailman leaves a note to come to Van Brunt, where you'll wait in one of those lines for an hour only to find out your package has been misplaced. Finally, if you subscribe to GQ magazine, like me, and the cover includes anything like a bikini, you can forget about that issue making it to your mailbox. Bottom line: If you want us to get it, don't mail it.)

So, back to the story, we get to Van Brunt about 11:20, which is later than I'd hoped, but still well ahead of the 12pm closing time. Miraculously, we make it to the front of the line at 12pm. As I push my well-organized set of application documentation across the desk, the lady snaps "The Passport Window Is Closed! We stop accepting passport applications at 11:30!"

......

Three babies, 40 minutes, a week of preparation, and now this. I sputter something about the web site hours and three kids and why am I the victim of such a vengeful God, to no avail. When I ask her why the hours are different than what the State Department says, I get this very helpful response: "I have no idea."

Needless to say, there is nothing in heaven or on earth that I can do to change this situation. The edict has been handed down from high atop the Postal Service Employee's throne and I must deal with it. This means that now I have to keep the kids out of school one day next week to apply for a passport. And you can bet your booty it won't be done at Van Brunt.

Okay I'm finished venting.