by Joseph McCann

Created on: October 10, 2008   Last Updated: January 24, 2012

When I retired several years ago, one of my chief concerns was to remain current with the world. With the help of my new, souped-up, $8000 computer and my $20,000 software (I'm scaling these amounts based on my retirement income), I figured I was ready to meet the world's challenges and technologies head on. Add on my 64 years of hard earned experience, and nothing would get by me. That is, until I decided to mail a letter.

I thought of writing a semi-fictional novel entitled "The Adventures of Baron Von Munchkin and the US Postal Service". Then I realized about 80% of my anticipated audience would probably not know what a stamp was! Even I almost forgot. Everything I do, I do on-line. I'm even willing to put up with the long process of identifying myself, my user name, password, mother's maiden name, and the hint of remembering my mother's name in case I forgot. Heaven forbid, someone should sneak onto my website and pay my phone bill!

But this time it was different! After staying a little while on the state website, I found that two insurance companies owed me money, and have for the past five and ten years. I responded, printed out the forms which asked me to identify myself with all the things they already have, to prove it was really me, fill them out, sign the form and mail in the original.

I did all the things they asked very carefully, least they put me into the "Another 5 Years" file, put the many forms in a #10 envelope and sealed it. It was then I realized I needed a stamp.

Because I live in a city of about 350,000, and because the centralized post office is about 8 miles away, there are a number of private stores that sell stamps and postal packaging for a fee. At the closest one, I found myself at the back of a long line waiting for one clerk to take care of about 10 people.

The lead customer was trying to mail a 98" Futon to her college exchange student daughter living in a poor section of Oslo. She had the sofa wrapped in pink gift paper, sealed with silver duck tape. The clerk told her the paper had to be white, considering Homeland Security and all, and it would cost her $862 in stamps.

About an hour later when I finally reached the front, I asked the clerk for a stamp. When he gave me a small bag, presumably with my stamp inside, he told me that would be $10.

"$10?" I asked, "For a stamp?" He told me I had to buy a whole book, and I told him I wouldn't live long enough to use a whole book of stamps, and left.

I knew my only recourse was to

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