So, my fees for a basketball league are due tomorrow, deliverable to P. O. Box 415. Now, at this particular post office, I also have a P.O.Box, P. O. Box 413. So on my lunch break, just to be sure, I go to that post office, wait in line fifteen minutes, and ask the guy at the counter if my dues will get there tomorrow. After all, I explain, all they have to do is just walk around to the back and put it in that P.O.Box.
No, he counters, first the envelope has to go to a regional handling center to be handled, then it comes back here. So it might be in tomorrow, but it may very well be Wednesday until it can get in there. Now, I'd been late with dues in this league in the past, so I really wanted to get my dues in on time and avoid the late fee.
So, I took the envelope back from the guy at the counter and walked over to my P.O. Box and opened it. I waited a bit, fiddling around with the junk mail to make sure no one saw me. I'm pretty skinny, and have a 34 inch sleeve, so I stuck my arm through the box, felt over two spaces and put the envelope in the guy's P.O. Box myself.
Minor victories over vast bureaucracies put me in an inordinately good mood.