I grimaced with annoyance as the large brown, wrapped parcel jarred against my arm. After weeks of shopping in heated malls, dressed in heavy boots and jacket, with perspiration clinging to me, I had finally accumulated the contents on my gift list. They were about to be sent off.
The Post Office was trimmed with glittering garlands, bright bows and rainbow coloured lights. The dull green walls faded somewhat before this Christmas finery and the dark counter and boot-printed floor did little to complement the holiday colours.
I waited impatiently as the line moved slowly ahead, constantly shifting my parcel from one hand to the other.
Finally there was only one person ahead of me. An obviously handicapped man, who slowly and carefully placed an open envelope on the counter and tugged at his wallet.
“Hello Tommy,” welcomed the girl at the wicket. “Want me to fix your letter?” She quickly licked the gummed edge and with a flourish placed it on the scale.
“That’s forty-one cents,” she noted.
Tommy counted out the change in a laborious manner and I felt a twinge of annoyance as I sighed and waited impatiently. By this time my parking meter had probably run out and I was mentally adding the cost of a ticket to the postage.
With difficulty Tommy stowed his wallet and turned to leave.
“Wait Tommy,” called the girl. She grinned and pushed a red tied basket across the counter. “Have a Merry Christmas.”
“For me?” he whispered, “Well, thanks.” He shuffled towards the large glass door, holding the basket carefully in front of him.
There was complete silence in the post office as eyes met and weary strangers shyly grinned at each other and a few eyes glistened. Suddenly the room seemed sunnier as each was touched by the simple gesture of good will. The ambience in the room had changed completely.
My heavy parcel seemed lighter and I grinned at the young lady across the counter.
“These are for my grandchildren,” I announced, as to an old friend.
“We’ll make sure they get them,” she reassured me with a smile.
I headed towards the doors then looked back. The drab green walls seemed brighter and the colored lights cast warm reflections across the room.
“Merry Christmas,” I called, without hesitation, to those still in the line-up and got a resounding “Merry Christmas” in reply.
There in the old post office, for a tiny space of time, we had shared together the real meaning of the season.
