Our Tax Dollars Hard at Work

So I hobble into the Post Office on my crutches this morning. A big purple cast covers my lower right leg. I have a hell of a time opening the door and making my way up to the counter.
Clearly exhausted, I set a newspaper up on the counter and inform the postal clerk that I would like to mail this to the address I showed her. She looks at me, somewhat dumbfounded, and says, so what do you want me to do with it?
I wanted to reply , shove up your .... you crabby b, , but instead I just ask her if she can tell me how much it will be to mail it.
Once again in a "man you are really bothering me" tone she says, "You have to put in one of those envelopes and weigh it" as she points to the back of the room at a rack full of various envelopes.
It amazed me that she either did not see my crutches leaning up against the counter and the purple cast or she really did not give a darn. So I grab my crutches and slowly make my way to the rack of envelopes. There are 3 different envelopes that would fit but they were slightly different from each other and I was not sure if they had specific uses. Now, almost afraid to ask, I look over my shoulder and inquire as to which one, if any, would be the correct envelope.
"The one on the right I said!!" was her irritated reply.
I was obviously disrupting her morning of standing there and staring out the window at nothing. No other customers, just traffic going by, the place was empty.
I pick the envelope on the right and return to the counter and this "lovely" postal clerk. Setting the envelope and the newspaper I wanted to send on the counter I ask her if she can now tell me how much it will be to send.
$1.39 plus 99 cents for the envelope.
"Thank you" I reply, trying to ignore how poorly I was being treated.
I begin filling out the envelope and was immediately halted by my "friendly" neighborhood postal clerk.
"You can go fill that out over at the counter by the envelopes, there is a pen there for you" she says, no longer making any attempt to refrain from being a bitch.
My jaw about hit the floor. She actually made me pick up the envelope, the newspaper, and my crutches and hobble back across the room to fill out 4 lines of an address on an envelope, just in case someone else came in and needed service. Lord knows that 20 seconds it took me to fill out the address could have been the end of the U.S. Postal Service had another customer come in.
I fill out the envelope then take it back to the counter and pay to send it out. Now she is miss wonderful, obviously glad to see me leave.
"Have a good day" she says, as I try to shimmy my way out the door with my crutches.