Quaint Questions

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 547, 27 December 1928, Page 9

Quaint Questions

Public Thinks Postal Men Should Know Everything “WHERE IS JIM SMITH?” An excited Maori approached the inquiry counter at the Auckland Post Office the other day and astonished the clerk by asking “Which is te quickest way to ket te letter up home?” "My piccaninny he very sick up at home,” ho explained. “You send te letter py te express if you like. No matter so long as it fast. You toll te wahine I'll be home to-morrow or to next tay. You know I want te letter to ko quick.” This is a sample of the posers put up to the inquiry clerk at the Post Office. The woes and plaints of thousands of people descend upon him, but he bears the burden smilingly and sends them on their various ways armed with the knowledge he dispenses. “I say, mister, where do you buy a stamp,” is a common question, but by the polite manner in which the inquiry man directs the seeker, one would think the question was being asked for the first time. One young woman, impressed by the efficiency of the Post Office, approached the counter and said she wished to book a berth from Wellington to Lyttelton. She wanted to know if the boat was crowded. Regretfully the clerk assured her that the Post Office did not act as a shipping agency. Another woman thinks the Post Office is a locksmith's establishment. She informed the clerk confidentially that she had lost the Yale key to her house and wanted another one made "if you please.” WHERE IS JIM SMITH? Vague inquiries about letters from England addressed to Auckland are common, and people are sometimes offended because the inquiry man pleads guilty to lack of knowledge. A postal man should know everything, they maintain. Else, why keep a Post Office ? “There was a man named Jim Smith who used to live somewhere in Dominion Road in 1909. He’s shifted away since then. Can you tell me his present address?” This is the type of question that makes an inquiry clerk wish he had taken up an easy occupation. People unconsciously pay a tribute to the powers of the Post Office when they ask such questions. The mysterious and profound Post Office, wrapped in official secrecy, distributing telegrams and letters around the world and possessing all knowledge, is the final arbiter of all problems. “Where does Mrs. Dick Jones live?” “Can you give me the address of Henry Dubb, who works on the wharf?” are among the many queries from those who think the postal clerk carries the Post Office Directory in his head. It never occurs to them to look it up for themselves. Very few people seem able to separate the Postmaster-General from the Chief Postmaster, as the Hon. J. B. Donald. Postmaster-General, will now discover.

If Henry Dubb wants to notify the Post Office that he wants his mail readdressed, he puts the information in an envelope and carefully addresses it to the Postmaster-General.

If the Postmaster-General happens to be in Invercargill at the time, the letter follows him and many valuable daysare lost until Mr. Henry Dubb gets his mail aright. Subjects pertaining to the Chief Postmaster should be addressed to the Chief Postmaster to save time and trouble for everybody. SCOTSMAN’S “PRESENT” The staff had a laugh over a serious man, evidently of Scottish origin, who told the telegraph desk he wanted to send “one of those present telegrams. ’ What he really wanted was one of the standard greeting telegrams that are sent by the Post Office during tie Christmas period. The Christmas rush has brought a train of trouble to the postmen’s mailroom. Angry people, who have no idea of the amount of work being handled, ring tip and demand the reason for the non-delivery of parcels which they “know perfectly well have been posted.” The perspiring workers in the mailroom vainly try to explain. The irate citizens say hard words. Rush or no rush, the Post Office must be efficient. The handling of hundreds of thousands of letters and packages makes no difference. Henry Dubb must have his letter—and right on time, too! On Christmas Eve a cablegram arrived for a woman who lived in an Auckland suburb. The address was so vagud) that had it been a letter the postaJ officials would have labelled it “Insufficiently Addressed,” and sent it on a tour to the Dead Letter Office. Being a cablegram, they tried to trace the addressee. There were many others of the same name in the same street, but after some ringing up tbe officers traced the woman and read the message to her. She wanted Co know What all .the fuss was about. “Goodness gracious! Don’t I get all the letters of that name in the district?” she demanded. The Post Office man grew hot under the collar, but explanations were unavailing. The Smiths are always the only Smiths and the Browns the only Browns. The number of testy people who ore quite the postmen knew them would be sadly disillusioned if they knew th# postmen did not. They forget fho postmen see quite a number of people, and forget fliem soon afterwards. Irate citizens who receive vaguely addressed letters covered with the initials of various postmen who have not been able to find them demand the reason angrily. They must think there is only one; postman on the run. Why, they have lived in the. street for 10 years, they say. Surely the Post Office knows them without all that trotible! However tbe Post Office carries on quietly and efficiently on the outside. | but at top speed in the busy mail and | telegraph rooms. In spite of the hard kicks and no ha If pen<*e, the wearv staffs do their jobs in the face of the difficulties imposed upon them by the general public.