This morning I walk over to the post office to mail a care package to my brother in Irvine. I wait in a longgggg post office line with an assortment of folks from planet earth. A friendly, young, black male mail clerk comes out and asks, "Does anyone here speak Russian?"
There is a 20-something year-old blonde woman standing next to him. A Russian, I presume because I'm smart. I imagine that there are at least 3 people in line who speak Russian, but since they don't speak English, they can't understand the request or even help out if they do. "Did you ask if anyone hear speaks Russian?" I say and realize that my question implies that yes, I do speak Russian and can tell by the clerk's slightly relieved face.
"You speak Russian?" he asks excitedly.
"No," I say, "but I'd like to learn."
An older gentleman approaches and tries to intervene saying to the woman, "Yiddish? Yiddish? Yes?"
She shakes her head no. He continues anyway, "Yes, Yiddish. Poland, yes? Russian, yes? Yiddish."
Again the woman shakes her head, this time taking a step back from the man. "Vhat do you vaunntt me to say?" the Yiddish speaker yells (he's not angry, yelling's his normal voice) at the clerk in English.
The clerk also takes a step back and says, "Tell her that I don't see a package back there but to come back when she has one of these," he says pointing to the little brown slip.
"Nyet. Nyet package," our eager translator barks loudly at the woman. "Nyet."
The woman takes another step back and says something, shaking her head. At this point the short Eastern European looking man in a short cap standing behind me approaches and speaks to the woman in Russian. They chat back and forth and we have a breakthrough, such that the Bengladeshi man in front of me smiles. The Russian man turns to the clerk and holds up one finger, mumbles something unintelligibly and then holds up two fingers. Everyone looks at everyone else. Long pause. The clerk stares blankly then repeats, "Tell her that I don't see a package back there but to come back when she has one of these."
The Russian man points to the slip in the mail clerk’s hand and then points to the Russian woman who pauses. The Yiddish translator yells, "Nyet. Nyet package!" The Russian woman walks out. The Yiddish speaker smiles, thinking he has handled it.
"You must have to speak about 10 languages to work here," I say to the clerk, approving of his diplomacy attempts. "Russian, Bengali, Spanish, Polish, Yiddish, Chinese," I say thinking of all the languages I have heard here. The guy next to me in line turns around and says, "Korean, too. Don't forget Korean."
I think he was Korean. "You know that according to many people, this Kensington post office -11218- is the most diverse zip code in all of America," I say to the clerk but, really, to everyone. "You don't say," he says. "This is my third day but you learn something new every day."
He then turns around and goes through the door, disappearing behind a wall of bullet proof plexi-glass and impenetrable bureaucratic lag. There are 16 people in line, and one window open with a postal clerk working at her own pace. I look at the remaining windows where no one is working. Are all the clerks sick today? But then I remember this is the post office. It's always like this.

The void of the four clerk-less windows stares back, mockingly, at all of us in line. I realize that the Mexican woman is talking to the Bengali woman in full burka and they are both nodding. The Korean shakes his head understandingly to the Polish woman behind him, the Hasidic gentleman at the end waves his arms and the Chinese woman next to him nods. Every person in line is gesturing and nodding and shaking their heads in a united "this is bullshit, right?" vernacular. The Russian man next to me points to the single clerk and then looks to the rest of the line. I look at him and say slowly, "communism." He pauses then laughs. "Communisto," he says nodding and chuckling, "communisto." Then, as if being struck by an epiphany, he shakes his head, looks at me, points to the one window and says, "Democratzo. Demo-cratz-o."

                                     
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