I went to the post office today –
twice. The first time I entered the almost empty room, it was hot and there
were six people in the line, standing like fish on dry ground, gasping for air.
I joined the queue and told myself that being patient would be worth it in the
end. I was there to collect a parcel and was excited about it.
There were two people behind the counter,
behind the glass pane, serving the public. I waited ten minutes and was
intrigued. The scene before me looked frozen. I wasn’t sure if the people on
either side of the counter had moved at all in the ten minutes that I had been
standing in the queue. Then, the woman in front of me turned and said, “I’m
coming back.” It was as if I were responding to an invitation. I turned and
followed her out the door. Yes, she wanted me to know that she would be
resuming her space in the queue upon her return. Sadly, I wasn’t prepared to
wait for her. The heat was unbearable and, today, I wasn’t prepared to melt in a
vacuum of inactivity.
How can people be so callous, I
wondered? I was reflecting on those behind the counter who work at the post
office. The general public was left to fend for themselves. There were no
chairs and water, the heat was stifling, and three of the six people in the
queue were old.
I went home and an hour later returned to the post office. As I entered, I was relieved to see that there
were only two people in the queue. I recognized them immediately. The last
person in the queue was the woman who had excused herself an hour ago from the
line. I rejoined the line and waited. I watched the people behind the counter,
behind the glass pane, and thought about the heat. I imagined that I, too,
would work as slow as a sloth if I were them.
Nearly half an hour later, it
was my turn to walk to the counter. I greeted the man and handed him my
collection slip. Everything before me happened as if in slow motion. Was he
even breathing? When he finally turned to go and fetch the parcel, I became
aware of the cool air that escaped through the hole in the glass pane. I put my
hand through the hole and realized that the people behind the counter were working
in air-conditioned circumstances. I was so surprised, but it made sense. They
shouldn’t work faster. They should work at the slowest pace of all. After all,
not one of them is there because they want to be there. They’re not there to
serve customers. They’re serving a life sentence.
I spend so much time telling the
students in my class to choose subjects and a career that they’re passionate
about. The years they spend at school are nothing compared to the time they
spend earning a living. Assuming the average age to attend school is 5 to 18, I’d
say that’s a mere drop in the bucket of life. Working from 20 to 65 (the
general age of retirement) is where our passion is required to perform. Sadly, there
are too many opinionated parents who force their children in directions the
children don’t want to follow. Blessed are those who have the opportunity to
follow their dreams.
As for those who end up behind a
counter, if you don’t like what you’re doing and you cannot serve others with
passion, find yourself in a new direction. It’s never too late to start living.
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