Going postal at the lovely post-office

Oh my goodness, the holidays are totally here, and I am not quite prepared- mentally. For example, I had to go to the post office yesterday, an activity that is completely overwhelming and anxiety provoking enough as is: the never moving line; the packaging options and rules; the robots who work there who are not the least bit interested in smiling or making anything easy; making sure there is enough bubble wrap to secure the precious items I'm mailing; panicking about whether everything is going to get to it's destination on the right day or not... the list really could go on and on, but I might work myself into a panic attack if I continue. So, knowing that I either need a valium or a shot of vodka prior to arriving at the hell that is the post office should make me depart prepared, but I never am.
I had to mail 20 jars of our homemade jam to my mom to distribute as "happy holiday" gifts to her coworkers and the like. I put them all in my bag, recounting three times before I left, had all 20 tags to place on the jars, my payment options, and my sanity. I even had my dad's, brother's and mom's birthday cards to include in the loot. I was totally prepared.
I am not quite sure when I lost the sanity I had been sure to pack for the trip. It may have been the second I walked in the door seeing an endless line and hearing the frustrated remarks crazed line participants were muttering not so quietly. It may have been when I was unable to obtain the special packaging tape you have to use for priority mail. It may have been when I finally got my package together (with stickers I found mind you, not packaging tape) and was standing in line to be addressed by another crazed citizen who yelled "You have got to be f***ing kidding me, what is everyone doing here?! This is absurd!" But it was most likely when I had stood in line for an hour (with another half our to go), arms painfully shaking, 20 jars of jam slowly causing my biceps to fail. I refused to put the package on the floor for fear that when picking it up, the sticker holding the bottom tabs together would loose it's strength and 20 jars of jam would go crashing onto the floor.
There were two guys behind me, and two in front of me. The two behind me taunting me about how heavy my package looked, asking if I was going to drop it. Nice. The saint in front of me turned around, obviously not being able to stand it anymore. "Hey, can I just hold that for a while?" Those who know me, know that it would take some serious coaxing to get me to let go of my box. Turns out it didn't take that much. I let him hold it for a while.
Needless to say, I did not leave with my sanity, but I did leave with the tags and birthday cards I was supposed to mail. My poor dad, this is the second time I forgot to include his card in a package I was sending back in October. I just got so frazzled by the time I got to the window, I could barely remember my name or address. Thankfully these things can go through the regular mail picked up by the mailman at my own safe home.
If it weren't for the nice guy in front of me, I quite likely would have been committed yesterday. He was a tall, built man in his 20s wearing a white beanie and a north face fleece. Brown eyes. I think his name was Adam. He didn't want me to buy him lunch- I suppose if I were him I most certainly would not go to lunch with a stranger who looked on the brink of lunacy either. If you see this kind soul, kiss him, tell him he's wonderful, do him a favor, throw money at him- he deserves it. And for God-sakes: avoid the post office at all costs, and if you absolutely have to go, remember there is safety in numbers!