What comes to mind when I say the words to you Polish Post Office? Now think hard. Smelly, dirty people? Rude people? Long Soviet-esque lines?
Oh it was all that. And more.
If Cracola and I were not so hungry, we would have given up halfway through our 90 minute excursion to the post office. Did I say 90 minutes? Oh, actually, I mean 120.
First, we called a taxi. Cracola wasted no time barking English directions at the cab company lady.
"TWENTY EIGHTY WIELOPOLE STREET IMMEDIATELY!"
But then no cab came. And again, no cab came. And then the cab company called back and asked Crac for the address again. And then no cab came. And then no cab came.
Finally, a cab came. I showed the post office slip with the address for Lubricant Street on it to the cab driver. He drove for a few blocks and then TRIED TO KICK US OUT OF THE CAB! Seriously. From my limited Polish language knowledge (okay, I don't know any Polish) and his body language, there was no way in hell he was going to go any further on Lubricant Street. But since Cracola is big and mean, she refused to get out of the cab.
"TAKE US TO THE POST OFFICE. THE POST OFFICE. P-O-S-T O-F-F-I-C-E!"
The guy got the clue that Cracola was NOT to be messed with and turned his car around in the middle of the street (the actual middle of the street) and sped towards a random street which did not appear to be Lubricant Street. Then he actually kicked us out of the cab in front of a random post office.
What did not appear to be Lubricant Street actually turned out to be, in fact, Lubricant Street. And the post office, whose address on the slip was 53 Lubricant Street, turned out to be actually at 4 Lubricant Street. Got that? Right.
So I wish the story ended here with us just going inside and getting the package but no, our story is only just beginning.
You see, the Polish post office is divided into two parts, one part for letters and the other part for packages. We figured out that PCKYZKI or whatever meant package in Polish so we went to that side.
In the PCKYZKI area, there are two windows, both with lines. One has window has a Polish woman grabbing her belly fat, yelling at the Polish postal worker and spreading panties out on the counter. Yes, you read that right, panties. This is the only time so far that I wished I spoke Polish so I could tell what the hell was going on with that woman. The other window has a moderate line that does not appear to be moving at all.
Anyways, we get in the longer line because it is clear that Polish panty woman is going to be a while. So we're waiting, and waiting, and waiting, AND WAITING and some, pardon my Polish, bitch walks up, cuts the line and demands service. So the Polish postal worker helps her. Meanwhile, the lady with her panties everywhere is still clutching her belly fat and yelling.
So the bitch leaves, satisfied and with her package, and we are next up after a guy who is trying to mail his laptop. And when I say mail his laptop, I mean stick a stamp on it and mail it away. The Polish postal worker tries to give him a box. He tries to jam the laptop in it. No good. So the Polish postal worker hands him a SMALLER box which he tries to ram the laptop in and of course it doesn't fit. So now that his laptop will not fit in the box, she hands him an ENVELOPE and sends him away to the letters side of the post office since now he technically has a letter and not a package.
So, FINALLY, we are up and I hand the Polish postal worker my package slip. She shakes her head and tells me to go to window 5. So I go to window 5. No one seems to work at window 5. No one at all. I swear, I saw a tumbleweed blow past window five while we were waiting.
Meanwhile, Cracola has had just about enough. She leans into me and says, "If that guy in window 6 stamps one more customs slip, I am going to stamp his huge, bald head."
Yikes. Stamp. Stamp. Stamp. I though Cracola was going to explode. In the background, the Polish woman is spreading her panties out and yelling.
So finally, some woman shows up at window 5 and takes my slip. She goes to look for it. She cannot find it. Cracola is turning redder and redder and some steam is escaping from her ears.
The woman disappears and returns with a huge box from my mommy. You'd think that she would just give it to me and we would be on our way right? Nope.
She has to fill out some forms and she has to fill them out painfully slow. Oh, and did you know you need your PASSPORT to claim a parcel? No? Yeah, me neither. So I convince her to take my license as identification which confuses her and causes her to slow down even more.
And in the background the Polish woman is still yelling about her panties.
So when we got home, the package was stuffed with good food stuffs including TWO cans of Easy Cheese which we promptly filled our bellies with.
I'm sure the Polish woman is still there yelling about her panties.
Man, everyone wants to go to Poland. Even Saddam wants to come hang in the P to the L-A-N-D.
So you can file this little tidbit under "things I don't care about but are kinda weird"... Identical twins in Poland are leading in the polls for Prime Minister and President. Now I don't know why any country needs both a Prime Minister and a President, however, the possibilities for hilarity if they are identical twins are endless.
The EU is going to give Poland (wait, let me put my pinky to my lip like Dr. Evil) 60 BILLLLLLLLLLLION EURO for infrastructure upgrades. This is all well and good, however, if Cracola and I's nefarious currency speculation scheme goes as planned, the euro won't be worth the paper it is printed on!
I take it back. Cracola and I aren't Knight Rider Hasselhoff cool. We are in fact, David-Hasselhoff-wearing-the-skins-of-sled-dogs-not-unlike-Cruella-DeVille cool.