Brazilian Time at the Post Office

Letters and postcards have stacked up next to my computer destined for Canada, and today I finally resolve to get to the post office before they completely become irrelevant to my friends. Almost two months has passed since I've arrived in Rio and I think, and I say this lightly, I think I've got the "Brazilian time" down; so I reserved an entire afternoon for this activity. So I pack the back-up snacks and water: an essential survival kit in case of traffic jams, the kid, a handful of toys and my letters.

Off I go, in the car of course, to the mall where I last saw a post office. Once there, I rent a push car to keep the kid happy, and head straight there, only to find a situation not unlike the Canadian passport office on most days. There are rows and rows of seats completely occupied with tired looking people holding various boxes, letters and documents. Oh, no, I sigh. I grab a number: 255.

I look for the number indicator display only to find a rolling advertisement for the post office. What number are they serving, I wonder. Suddenly, after 5 minutes of looking around, the advertising changes to a number:141. Oh, man. Are you kidding me? Okay, breathe, we're on Brazilian time. The kid and I decide to take advantage of the rental push car and do some window shopping, but you know that dreadful feeling you have that you might rush back only to find that they are now serving 258? So we do a lot of mini loop-Dee-loops, checking back and waiting 10 minutes every time for the advertising to stop so we can see the number they are serving.

The other people waiting look more and more like patients in a hospital ward; yawning and shifting in their seats. The clerks too for that matter. Finally, around 240, we sit down and wait. The kid starts making spit designs on the plastic chair next to me while I'm trying to beat the boredom by reading the signs on the cork-board. What's this I read? Are they saying that they don't accept credit or debit cards? IS THAT WHAT IT SAYS? I ask the lady sitting next to me in total defeat! She assures me that in some special cases, she's sure that they do, pointing at a guy at the counter with a very large box. Okay, I think, I have to have enough cash in my coin purse to pay for 10 international stamps, right? Another 20 minutes later and it's our turn. 255! Put your shoes on! I urge the kid, waving my letters in the air at the clerk as I try to climb over the rental push car. Wait! We're 255! Finally at the counter, the clerk, who seems tired and annoyed asks for my ticket. Ticket? Ticket? Where's the ticket? Can't find the ticket! I make a gesture blaming it on the kid and he sighs deeply, obviously not impressed. Okay, keep cool. The clerk takes my letters, one by one, slowly examines them, weighs them, one by one, puts 3 different stamps on each and punches some keys on his computer. And we wait. We wait. The system is down. The kid is now entertaining himself by repeatedly kissing my butt, which also entertains the bored people sitting behind me.

Finally, the computer kicks in and I swear I heard some backfiring when it did, and the grand total is? $12 Reais. I quickly calculate in a slight panic that once I pay for the stamps I will have enough cash to pay for the rental push car and the parking, also cash only. Man, in a land where you're not supposed to carry a lot of cash, you sure need it, like all the time! Anyways, I was thankful that if we didn't hit some freak traffic jam that we would be home on time for dinner!

I got in trouble with mall security for taking a photo of the post office sign.

I also got in trouble with mall security for taking a photo of us lying down on a mattress sized bench- no lying down allowed!