Adventures … at the Romanian Post Office

You know me, I am the one with the adventures. I keep gathering and gathering them, and sometimes I even put them in writing.

A few months ago, a friend of mine wrote about how she made the decision of never using again the services of the Romanian Post Office. And I agreed with her on that. Mostly, in hindsight of what had happened to me a few weeks before her post.

Last summer, I was on holiday through the country (needless to mention that I have gathered enough material for the continuation of the Adventures of tourists). We arrived in Timisoara and we were enchanted to see it looked more beautiful than it did nine years ago.

I wanted to buy some postcards with main sights from Timisoara and to send them in Romania and abroad. Every souvenirs shop or bookshop I entered, that sold postcards, did not also sell stamps. Everyone directed me to the Romanian Post Office. So I did not buy postcards and decided that I would buy them all, postcards and stamps, from a post office. I must admit that I must have got this idea (of buying from the same place stamps and postcards) from my trips abroad where I was able to do it (even though not even today did the Romanian Post Office delivered to Cluj-Napoca a postcard that I had sent last year from Madrid).

Finally, I was able to find a post office, and the queue outside was not that long. Two girls were in front of me so I waited patiently for my turn. Another girl made the queue behind me and no sooner than one client exited the office that she went for it and cut the queue and entered the office. Probably, because all of us were wearing masks, she thought no one would dare to open their mouths. I did not. That’s also because the two girls in front of me took the situation in their own hands and went after her and pulled her out. When she exited, accompanied by the two girls, there was a certain smile on her face, like she had just received flowers. That got me thinking that this was not her first attempt to cutting a queue.

When it was my turn, I entered and went straight to the office to my right, where I saw from the outside that everyone stopped. I asked for stamps, but the lady there brutally intervened and sent me to another office, mentioning that she was very busy and that all the people standing outside should know better than to keep disturbing her. I wanted to make a suggestion and tell her that she could place a note in front of her office and thus making it easier for her and the clients, but I reckoned from the tone she used that she knew better.

I advanced towards the other office and asked for stamps for Romania and France. A picture hang next to the office, showing a POS and encouraging payment by card. That’s good, I told myself. I also asked for postcards of Timisoara. The lady looked at me confused and told me that they do not sell such things. I took out the card to make the payment but she told me that stamps cannot be paid by card, only cash. Probably is the mobility feature that stands in the way, I told myself. So, here I was, leaving Timisoara with no postcards, but with stamps.