Postal Service – Something to Get Used To

If you are in Chisinau as an expat and if you can easily send and receive letters and packages from your home country through your job,

be happy!

Be very Very Happy!

Drink a bottle of wine to that pleasure!

Drink another bottle of wine for being happy about it!

Hell, invite me over and we’ll drink three bottles of wine, because you should be very happy about that and I should try to forget that I don’t have that!

Because today, I spent about an hour and a half to spend a tiny box to Belgium and a letter to the US. I went to a wrapping table in the Sun City so my little gifts could be nicely wrapped. And then I watched the postal lady nicely unwrap every single gift to see what was in it. She untied each gift and weighed things inside, looked at it thoroughly  to try to figure out what to write for description of it. Once all the things were untied and then tied back again, she put the gifts in a box and deconstructed the box to try to wrap it tightly around the gifts. Once it was done, she wrapped another paper around it. Then when the box was done, I was given two forms to fill out, and told that the box will get there in three weeks with airway. She asked me if I wanted to send it with a train. I gently declined.

I wasn’t too happy about all the untying and the wait, but I guess I should be happy that there wasn’t anybody else before me doing the same thing, because such situation would turn into an all-day affair. And I should be happy that postal service exist.

ok, fine. I don’t have to be happy about it. I’ll just try to get used to it.


It’s 41F outside. It’s not getting colder, and it’s not snowing. It’s an odd winter, people say. But, I’m just fine with that.



One thought on “Postal Service – Something to Get Used To

  1. Oh dear – sorry you had so much trouble. But take heart. I was in the post office in Brussels this week, and there was shouting, crying, frantic gesturing… the aggression was something you had to see to be believed. People are just trying to post things or pay a bill, and they are worked into some kind of mania. Fascinating to watch. Just awful if you’re trying to send something. But in our local village at home, I went to the post office, and they needed to know what was in the package. It was something my sister was sending, so I didn’t know what was inside, and the postman said, “No problem, here’s our phone number. Give me a call later and let me know what’s in it, and I’ll fill in the form for you.” Star!

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