I was strolling through the stationery aisle at the Sav-On Drugs across the street from my office when a very old, very small woman with a very heavy Eastern European accent waved me over to where she was standing.
Her: I need help. Can you help?
Me: No hablo ingles.
No, for real, I didn’t say that, y’all.
Me: Yes. How can I help you?
Her: I need envelope.
I looked above her and all the envelopes were on the upper shelf, so I guessed that she must need help reaching them. I picked a box of small envelopes and handed them to her. She shook her head and repeated that she needed envelope. I picked a box of large envelopes and that wasn’t what she wanted, either. I asked her what size of envelope she needed and she picked up a large mailer and made a sticking motion in the upper left hand corner.
Me: Ahhh! Stamp! You want a stamp!
Her: Yes! Yes! Stamp! Stamp is what I need!
Me: Yeah, well, they don’t sell stamps in the pen and pencil lane because all the people would theft them and then the United States Postal Service would probably recall the stamps or increase the rates because everyone had gotten their free stamp on.
No, I didn’t say that, either. I told her they sold stamps at the service desk and went with her to help with her purchase.
Of course, that’s when I found out they don’t sell stamps at all and the clerk had to give directions to the 7-11 down the street.