Image via WikipediaUnlike many post offices in North Jersey, the one in Hackensack doesn't have a parking lot for patrons. There are four parking meters in front of the building, and more metered spaces around the corner, vacant ones if you're lucky -- a source of endless frustration and conflict among residents.
And the State Street building is opposite police headquarters, so it isn't unusual for an officer to dash across the street and issue a parking summons, if you're lucky enough to get a space but don't feed the meter. It's a shame, because this post office will deliver a letter to Manhattan the next day; it's really efficient.
Residents circle the block sometimes or simply postpone their visit to the post office. They double-park and dash to the mail boxes out front, nose their cars into an empty space at odd angles, put on their flashers at expired meters. Horns blow, tires screech.
On Friday, I approached in my car and saw all four metered spaces occupied, but a woman sat in the driver's seat of a minivan, writing on something. I motioned for her to lower the passenger side window and asked, "Are you waiting for somebody?"
"What business is that of yours?" she replied.
I said I wanted to mail a package, but she closed the window. I drove around the corner and found an empty space, with about 16-17 minutes on the meter. As I walked past her minivan, balancing a large box, I shouted, "You're a moron!"
"So is your Momma," she shouted back.
I entered, only to find a long line and just two clerks on duty. I could see the woman's minivan through the window. I muttered under my breath and worried I'd get a ticket, but eventually got to the front of the line, mailed my package and bought stamps.
I jogged to my car, but as I passed the minivan, I shouted at the woman, "You're still a moron." I heard a quarter, my quarter, drop to the sidewalk.
She came back with the comment about my "Momma." I went back for the quarter, and said, "My mother is dead, but you're still a moron, plus you're ugly and fat."
Then, as approached my car, she got out of her minivan and started to cross the street toward police headquarters. She wasn't waiting for anybody after all, just taking up one of the limited spaces in front of the post office. I was besides myself.
"You're a piece of shit," I shouted as loud as I could, got in my car and drove home.
