Poczta

The other day, I received a package slip in the mail. However, instead of my name, the package slip was addressed to MB. Of course, I knew that MB was the person who had sent me the package. So I mosey my way over to the post office. There's only one window that accepts package slips. That window has a sign saying "Closed, go to the next window." (Well, the Polish equivalent.)

So, I dilly dally before approaching cautiously with a polite "excuse me, ma'am."

She looks at my package slip and tells me to wait a minute. Then she just continues to do her job while I stand there for five minutes rehearsing how I'm going to explain that I'm AJ, not MB in Polish. Finally, she gets the package. This is a huge relief for me because I assume that once she has the package, she can look down and see my name.

She looks at me, looks at the package slip. Then asks, "Who are you?" So I begin my spiel. "I'm AJ. MB is my friend. He lives in the USA. He's never been in Poland." She interrupts me, however, to ask "Who's MB?" So I continue on. She interrupts me once or twice more as I try to stutter my way through the explanation. Then she stops me with a single English word.

"Husband?"

I pause for a moment. Then I nod. "Tak." Sign for my package and leave.