The Ukrainian Postal System (apparently)
Disclaimer: I realize most Ukrainians use our equivalent of Fed Ex, and that they have same-day delivery and things like 5K like we do. And they know about computers and things like broadband, wi-fi and the internet. A field trip like the one I describe here is for when you need to deliver overseas only. And the stock photos here are not representative of all of them. My post office was red and blue, not just yellow. And it was inside an apartment complex in Kyiv. I did not take my own photos because it seemed rude.
I know you’re not supposed to talk bad about your host country, but to say that the Ukrainian National Post is a horrible, mind-twisting, almost psychedelic trip into some strange ancient universe (run by maniacal bureaucrats) is not something I think any Ukrainian would disagree with, or be offended by. Because it’s true.
I’m here to tell you that the
Ukrainian Postal System did not get that email.
They don’t use email, as far
as I could see, when I went with my Tanya and Oleg (who will offer similar
testimony) to send a 18”x20” cardboard box to Illinois. Oh. My. God.
The first thing you
encounter (unless you’re in a wheelchair, then no, you’re not coming in today)
is a small, musty-smelling, one-room office space, with counters like at a
modern bank, except the tellers are sitting on little wooden stools behind a
massive wooden barrier, plywood for as far as the eye can see, (desks,
tabletops), all painted in too heavy gloss, latex paint in god awful bright
colors like greens and reds. If you’ve ever been to a post office in 1950, then
you have arrived here.
The first thing you do is place
your box on the counter slot provided, which is sunken down beneath the table
tops and off the side of where you are standing for some reason. Then you tell
them that you want to send this (fully taped and sealed) box to the U.S.
After a few long looks, a
look something between distrust and disdain for what the clerk is going to have
to go through at this point, she reaches for the forms. Oh my hell, the forms.
These are stacks of 5x6
forms, the kind with that, what’s that copy shit called again, the sheet of
blue ink that copies to a pink sheet below as well and gets all over your
fingers, carbon copy? One of these is just for addresses to and fro, nyet problemo,
but got help you if you filled it out wrong, or incomplete. Then you have to
print another one out, just crossing off letters with your pen just won’t do.
Whole new form.
Then the inventory form,
itemizing every item in the box, which they must verify by ripping apart your
nicely packaged, clean box (an old Chewy’s box if you must know, you must😊
It will
be a shame if you packed several dozen bags of pumpkin seeds in there, amidst
your summer clothes and old underwear, because those are not allowed (the seeds
not the grundies), so you have to take them out one by one, and then
re-inventory.
I am
looking around for something resembling a scanner but I can’t see one (I
believe there was one there, in all honesty), and there was a monitor and
computers behind a wall, so hard to see, and no printers in sight for things
like printable stickers, but the focus was entirely on itemization, in which
every item had to be listed on the form. We messed it up twice, so we were
there awhile.
The come the stamps.
Everything in Ukraine has to be stamped. Everything. Twice.
In our case, the box ended
up with 4 stamps, of various colors and styles, deserving of serious art
appreciation no doubt, but I was feeling woozy from the stale air and smell of
peroxide so I didn’t even hear all of the ongoing chatter between Tanya and the
clerks, 3 of whom were now involved, and one in particular, a supervisor if I
had to guess, who was stalking behind the massive countertops like a leopard,
striding back and forth while mumbling, and at least one direct suspicious glance
at me, the foreigner she just heard speaking English, who was giggling and whispering
rather loudly to Oleg, something along the lines of, “Jesus, it’s 1950!”
This clerk was determined to better understand who we were and what was in the box. Tanya kept her cool and I give her the utmost credit for not losing it. I can’t say the same, I had to mourn in the corner, next to the “play area” for kids which was just the corner across from the massive counters. It had a little wooden table and chair, and a top toy, all made from the same heavy gloss colorful latex paint that everything else was painted with. No kids there, which made it an ideal place to shink and hide while Tanya was filling out the forms for a third time, so I didn’t lose my shit.
An hour or so later (doesn’t
matter, felt like an eternity), after taking several pictures of the box, fully
stamped, with our cell phones, we were able to leave the building and breathe
clean, well, still polluted, air.
It was claustrophobic and
horrible, mostly because you can imagine no less that 8 time-saving
technologies that could make the process flow so much faster and easier. Just
think what you might accomplish with a scanner, a printer, and computers that
would allow you to, oh I don’t know, register all this stuff online, payment
and certified addresses included, so maybe you could just drop your box off and
say, “dabre dane”?
I just gave Tanya a big hug
and said, “sorry you have to deal with this shit, it’s awful”
And we will never speak of
it again. Next time, we’ll just donate all the cheap clothes and smuggle our
seeds onto the plane.
But guess what? My visit to
the dentist (after a filling fell out) was surprisingly nice. First stop is an x-ray
office (in an apartment next door) where you strap on the lead (or whatever)
vest and get snapped in less than 15 seconds. Cost $6 (no dental insurance
here). Then, on to another apartment building next to Oleg where a small,
2-room, dental office is located and run by a nice lady who examined me in a reclining
dentist chair that appeared to be off Craigslist (old, torn and creaky), with a
dim overhead light and then agreed to fill my tooth, speaking through Oleg who
was translating, and who I’m absolutely positive was flirting with him (she
never stopped talking throughout the actual process of proding, grinding and filling, and
was heard giggling on several occasions). Oleg will deny it but he’s just being
modest. This woman had the hots for Oleg. Body language is universal and I speak
that language well 😊
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