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March 12, 2005
Going Postal
I went to my neighborhood post office today to pick up a package from my mom (thanks, mom!). The line was already very long...and then shuffled in a group of adults with mental handicaps on a field trip from their group home.
Now, before I go any further, let me explain this for those of you who don't know me personally: I taught preschool special education for 3 years. I do not harbor any ill-feelings toward those with disabilities. Matter of fact, I think I probably relate to them better than most people because of my experience with handicapped preschoolers and their (usually) mildly handicapped parents.
Of course, the majority of the people in line gawked at the group. Me, I diagnosed. That's one of the drawbacks of teaching special ed, I think: I always feel like I can diagnose their particular exceptionality by watching them. A few of the people toward the back (shame on them!) slowly got out of line and decided to buy their stamps from the dispenser machine and check their mailboxes before mailing their packages. Fine with me. The group of handicapped adults moved up behind me in line. Now, as I said before, this didn't really bother me. I applaud their group home for teaching them practical life skills. So I smiled at the group in general, then turned around to wait my turn.
Pretty soon, I feel a hand. It's patting my hair. Or maybe "petting" would be a better term; he was stroking my head as if I was a cat. I decided to ingore it for a few seconds; my preschoolers always lost interest in something if it didn't get a response. However, the petting continued. Slowly, I turned around to look at my new friend. I smiled and said, "Good morning. How are you?"
My friend (hereby named #1) opened his eyes very wide, stopped his hands in mid-air, and looked directly at the floor. Apparently he had been taught not to speak with strangers, and I definitely qualified although he had already introduced himself to me through his hands. The man behind him, a stout man with Down Syndrome (named #2), gregarious as many people with Downs are, replied, "Hey, I'm great, man! How are you?"
#2 and I chatted for a few seconds. #1 must've recovered from his shock of being acknowledged, because suddenly he looked straight at me, reached up, grabbed my face, and pinched my cheeks. Hard. Then he laughed.
I never figured out if #1 was laughing because he enjoyed my presence or if he was laughing because he inflicted pain on me. Either way, I think it's safe to conclude this: you never know what's going to happen behind the fast-paced doors of a U.S. Post Office.
Posted by Anna at March 12, 2005 12:07 PM
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Comments
European post offices are scary too. IN london you have everyone under the sun on line mailing packages. I hate going to the PO because its always a 20 min wait!
Posted by: mrsmogul at March 12, 2005 01:17 PM
What is it with people & your hair? I'm glad you were kind to #1 & #2. I knew you would be even before I read the next few lines. By-the-way, did you get your package? There's another one coming soon. 
Posted by: Mom at March 12, 2005 06:17 PM
That means another trip to the post office! Another story couldn't be far behind! 
Posted by: Christopher at March 12, 2005 10:17 PM