The post office is raising rates on stamps again. I hate when they do that because I have to buy a whole bunch of 2 or 3 cent stamps to make my old stamps useable again. Then I spend a month sending regular envelopes of mail with two separate stamps affixed. It offends my delicate artistic sensibilities. Not to mention I hate when the price of anything goes up. My regular egg and cheese Croissanwich at Burger King costs $0.20 more damn near every time I go. And now that I’ve written the name down for the first time, I might have to change my regular order. “Croissanwich”? Really?
But back to stamps. I think the price of a stamp was $0.25 for my entire childhood. Or maybe it was $0.32. But whatever it was, I don’t remember it ever changing. Now the price of stamps changes like they’re pumped out of Middle Eastern soil and manufactured by adhesive refineries operating at artificially lowered capacities. Next time I go to the post office they’re going to have one of those big sign towers and one of the incredibly miserable USPS employees will be out front with the long pole/suction cup sticking up the day’s prices.
Of course, a friend of mine says we shouldn’t complain about the price of stamps because odds are we can’t hand our letter to anyone else on the street and expect them to deliver it to LA or Philly or Miami for $0.41 or whatever the rate bumps up to next. To which I reply, 1) I like to complain, and 2) you can get a crackhead to do anything for $0.41.
