Icky Vicki of the Main Post Office, Oak Park, IL

There was a package waiting for me at the post office. Good news. So I swung by on my way to work to get it. That means that the first person I dealt with was Vicki. And that wretch could ruin Mother Theresa's day.

A tall, stoic woman of indeterminate age, Vicki usually only handles passport requests. I guess that makes her one of the aristocrats of the USPS window personnel. Because there was a line that morning, someone told her she had to wait on us. The unwashed. Plain old consumers there to mail packages, buy stamps, and other tasks that it's beneath her to help us with.

I had my package receipt and my driver's license out before I reached the window. I handed them to her. She did not make eye contact with me, glanced at my info, and grumbled. "It's going to be one of those days," as she ambled back to get my package. Which she wordlessly plopped on the counter. And without making eye contact with me, hit her service light and called "Next!" Just to cause her agita, and because I insisted she address me, I coolly but politely asked, "Am I not able to buy stamps at this window anymore?"

"How many?" she asked. Yipee! I got her to speak to me! OK, I got her to grumble and grouse at me. But it's something!

Vicki, Vicki, Vicki. Where's the love? Why are you so horrid? Don't you realize we pay your salary? Don't you know that the UPS Store is just around the corner, and is populated with nice people?

Plus, it's amazing how an early morning encounter with a witch like Vicki can cast a shadow over your whole day.