This has pretty much nothing to do with food. The only thing I can offer that might justify its inclusion in a food blog, is that this is a story about a package, and that package contained some food. Specifically, wheat thins, oatmeal squares and peanut brittle. Good old American food.
But some things are too good not to share. In brief, my boyfriend’s mom sends him care packages (sorry, Matt) to my office, because I can sign for them during the day. This time, however, it was waylaid by customs, and instead of a package I got a receipt and note (OK, it was like ten sheets of paper) informing me I had to pick it up at the head post office. Or something like that, I don’t speak Czech.
So off I went one morning, out to Prague 5 to retrieve the package, and so began a wonderful journey during which I explored the bowels of the Ceska Posta, feeling a bit like Alice in Wonderland.
Off we go/Into the wild blue yonder...
The first problem, of course, is figuring out which desk to approach first. I skipped the ground floor, that would have been too easy, and I’m no dummy.
First floor: Humid and despair-y.
I found a slightly more happening second floor. I’m starting to see a pattern with this whole houseplant thing. It’s like civil servants hope the foliage can camouflage the drab offices they work in.
I brought the carbon copy label from the package from desk to desk, floor to floor, collecting stickers and stamps along the way, until finally I was allowed to pay 96 crowns to retrieve my prize.
What does she win?!
The Tally:
Distinct Varieties of Pen Ink: Five
Stamps: Five on front, one on back. Nine different ink colors.
Bar Code stickers: Two, in addition to the original barcode.
Random stapled strip of paper: One.
Blank sticker that required my signature: One.
Whee! Finally it was time to take my ticket to the prize room:
The trophy room.
And it all cost me less than 100 crowns. So in conclusion, there exists still the kind of silly bureaucracy that hacks like to describe as ‘kafka-esque.’ I always defended the Czech Republic and its systems and institutions, saying that it wasn’t all that bad. I count myself lucky that this is the worst I’ve seen, and I’m not so jaded that I couldn’t laugh about it. Then again, I am single and childless, so I can’t imagine the headaches getting hitched or raising children generate, beyond the basic, universal ones.
UPDATE: My friend John Kruzel had this to say about my form:
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