Whisked from Data Bank, Green Creek Doesn’t Exist!

Massive I-beams surrounded by concrete do not make the foundation of a structure, small bricks are the stuff relied upon to make houses and skyscrapers what they are.
Bad bricks that cannot withstand the pressure will crumble and, if enough of them turn to powder, down comes that building, just like when the big, bad wolf huffed and puffed and blew down the piggy’s house of straw.
That said, consider the confounded condition in which our great land finds itself of late. To say it’s on a downward spin might be too harsh, but for sure, it’s not the same place it was, say 30 years ago.
Consider this: The U.S. Postal Service is rushing about, grabbing keys from branch offices it can no longer afford to keep open. And the mighty service, long known by the mail carrier, whose name we knew, is just another mega-business trimming costs, focused on the bottom line, and customers, seemingly, be damned, to the chagrin of folks at the grassroots level.
How can I say such unkind words about such a great American icon as Uncle Sam’s delivery system? Let me explain.
Recently, my beloved asked if, in a spare moment, I could order stamps from the U.S. Post Office in Green Creek, N.J. 08219. It’s one of those small offices that the service would probably like to erase from its database, but cannot, since it serves a decent-sized community.
Like so many small post offices scattered throughout this great nation, the person behind the counter, most of the time its postmaster, is friendly, conscientious and ready to serve in any way possible. She is keenly aware that money moves markets (and can close offices that don’t reap enough revenue.) It was on my list of things to do to order seven rolls of first-class stamps. Nothing to set Wall Street on its toes, but a sizable order for a small office like Green Creek.
Unfortunately, I lacked the local telephone number of the Green Creek Post Office. In this great information age, that would be no problem at all. Boy, was I a novice thinking that way!
I grabbed the ever-trusty telephone book, flipped through the Yellow Pages to the blue government section under U.S. Postal Service, and scanned the column for Green Creek. A quick read didn’t find it. I took a second look. Didn’t find it. Then, with my beloved’s words echoing in my brain about never being able to find anything when it’s right in front of me, I slowed my scan to a snail’s pace. Still didn’t find U.S. Post Office Green Creek.
I didn’t want to turn this into an all-day project, so I opted to concede defeat and call the toll-free 800 number that was beside all the other post offices in Cape May County, Cape May Point to Ocean City.
Navigating an impersonal phone menu, I could feel my blood pressure (for which I take pills to raise) climbing ever higher without aid of medication. In desperation, I opted (in English) for “Customer Service,” a misnomer in these modern times.
A pleasant female voice came on the line asking if she could help me. Yes, I said, I would like the phone number for Green Creek, N.J.
“And what is the ZIP code?” she asked. I confessed I did not know, a bad confession, to be sure, but truthful. “You don’t know the ZIP code?” If I knew, I would tell, but I didn’t. In a moment of respite from rage, I grabbed the Cape May County directory, a handy compendium of information wrapped in a pocket-sized book, flipped to the back and found all Cape May County ZIP codes. There it was, Green Creek 08219.
I recited the number to the customer service voice. Dead silence. Tick, tick, tick. “Are you sure that’s the right ZIP code?” “Yes, Ma’am, that’s the right ZIP code.” “Is that your ZIP code?” “No, Ma’am, it’s not.” “Could I help you with hours of operation?” “No ma’am.” “Why do you need to know the number?” “I want to talk to the postmaster about ordering stamps.”
“You can order stamps without talking to the postmaster…” “Ma’am, I want the number so I can talk to the postmaster.” Silence.
“I don’t show a Green Creek listed,” she said, “I show a Villas and a Rio Grande, Oceanville and Whitesboro.”
“Ma’am, I know there is a Green Creek Post Office, because I have been inside it,” I said, with words falling upon deaf ears. As well I could have told customer service I had been on a flying saucer and just returned from Jupiter.
Knowing when to cut one’s losses is the mark of maturity. “Well, thank you.” I said and hung up.
As if a light flicked on, I turned to Google on my computer, typed in Green Creek, N.J. Post Office. In less than a heartbeat, there it was — the local telephone number of the office at the corner of Route 47 and Norbury’s Landing Road, across the street from Little Danny’s Ice Cream.
I dialed the number, got Peg the postmaster, asked for the stamps, which she had, and said she would put away for me.
I broke the sad news that her office did not exist in the great customer service phone data bank of the U.S. Postal Service. She didn’t seem surprised, but didn’t say much. She is, after all, a true professional. I’ll pick up the stamps next week.
How I would LOVE to send a photograph of me walking into Green Creek Post Office 08219 to customer service, along with the telephone number, but that would be mean spirited. I’m not that kind of guy.