The cost of shipping 
Fourteen people waiting, only one line open. That was how the morning began at the post office. When my turn arrived, the postal worker looked at me, looked at the box, then looked back at me, this wasn’t a good sign. Though I had carefully printed the address on the box, with a black tip marker, the red headed postal work wasn’t impressed. "You must write the address on a sheet of white paper and attached it to the box." She said blankly. I asked her, "Do you have a piece of blank paper I could use, please?" The reply she gave me was a, "don’t-bother-me," no. I glanced around, and found a stack of advertisements paper, blank on the back side and white. Happy day! I quickly printed out the address, then asked the postal worker if she had any tape, par chance? She looked at me like I was stepping on her nerves. One word is all she gave, "No."
On my tiptoes I peered into her cubicle, I spotted airmail tape. "How about that airmail tape?" She barely looked at me when she said, "Mais non, we do not use airmail tape for that…(she might as well have added dumb head.)
I walked to the local shop and bought some tape to fix my new white make shift address label. The clock overhead said, 11:45. I raced back to the post office before it closed.
Opening the post office door, I couldn’t believe my luck, not a soul in the place, I smiled. The red head dropped her telephone, she barked, "*Merde *merde *merde! It is not possible, I am closing! You cannot do this at this time— OUT! OUT! OUT!" I calmly pointed to the clock as my witness. She stomped her foot, took my box, and locked the door behind me.
The red head glanced at my box and snickered,"This box is going to the United States of America? This will cost you a fortune to mail. Are you sure you want to mail it?" I thought of saying, "It is cheaper then an airline ticket." Instead I shook my head yes.
I filled out the declaration (custom paper) she gave to me, then handed it back to her. Before my eyes she took the declaration, placed it on top of the box, over the address label I had created. Then she torn a sheet of wide clear plastic tape, and plastered it over the declaration form AND MY WHITE PAPER ADDRESS LABEL!
Taped it! Counting to ten is a lesson that has helped me stay calm many of times. She smiled with a twist of bitter lemon and laughed under her breath.
Then she took the box and put it on the scale to weigh. With a tilt of her head and music to her voice, I heard her say, "Too bad! Too bad! Your box weighs too much! Our scales are too small they only go to 250 grams, so you will have to go the butcher shop to have this package weighed, if you want to mail it that is?" I looked at her, blinked my eyes in disbelief and could only say, "What?" Then I started to count out loud…"One, two, three, four…"
At the butcher shop, with sides of beef, chickens plucked with their heads still attached, rabbits in full fur, and sausage strung like Christmas lights. I looked at the butcher, and before stating my weird and wacky history of how I came to be in his shop, I began by saying, " Excuse me, the reason I have never been in your shop before, is because I am a vegetarian…" He had a hearty laugh!
He took the box, "How much did Red Head say her scales went to?" Innocently I said, "250 grams." The butcher marked on the box:
"251 grams signed, Monsieur Butcher."
The box weighed at least five pounds. I looked at him as if he just gave me sliced ham. "This package is at least five pounds?" The butcher laughed, "Not by my scales."
At 3:00 pm I was first in line at the post office. Red Head unlocked the door. She smiled, "Oh you are here again. Is everything ready to go? Viola! C’est bon!" She didn’t even flinch at 251 grams! What did she have for lunch?
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p.s. Not all post clerks in France are like red head.
* Merde is a bad word in French.
Photos: Taken around a French village in the south of France.
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