The Pitney Bowes machine ran out of ink in the middle of doing the mail so I went to the post office to do it the old-fashioned way.

I went to the main building and bought a $50 roll of 10 cent bulk mail stamps. Then I went to the bulk mail center, asked for a sponge to wet them (no adhesive stamps in bulk mail) to physically put them on the rest of the mail. Tedious but Okay, no problem.

But unlike on a previous occasion the woman at the bulk mail counter told me the mail all had to be one way or another, all metered or all stamped, "no mixing and matching." This oral pronuncement was accompanied by impressive physical reinforcements which included an arm signal like that used by football referees to indicate that a pass was not caught and the play Dead.

"But on a previous occasion I was told that I could mix them as long as I filled out two separate postage statement forms as I've done, one for metered mail, one for stamped."

"You were told wrong."

"Okay, no problem, could I speak to a supervisor?" The supervisor told me the same thing.

"Do you have the stamps? the supervisor asked me.

"Yes." I took them out of my pocket.

"Have you opened them?"

"No." He examined them and confirmed.

"Did you buy them today?"

"Yes," I replied, befuddled as to where he was going with this questioning, "just a few minutes ago."

"Do you have the receipt?"

"Yes," the witness averred.

"Good, because if you had bought them yesterday or if you had opened them or if you didn't have the receipt you couldn't get your money back. Go back to the main building and give them the stamps and get your money back."

I went back to the main building and waited in line.

"Next in line." I explained the situation to the clerk and handed her the virgin roll and receipt, pointing out the time stamp of 45 minutes prior.

"You have to return them to the same clerk."

(I am rendered mute.)

"Let me check to see if she's here, I think she's gone already."

(Mute moments pass.)

"Yes, she's left for the day." She looked quizzically at the roll of stamps. "Let me get a supervisor."

The supervisor approached the counter having torn himself away from the swift completion of his appointed rounds which on this day involved the completion of a crossword puzzle by the evidence he carried with him in his right hand. I hoped he also carried Reason with him.

The supervisor looked at the roll of stamps. The supervisor looked at the roll of stamps with the seriousness unique to supervisors. He looked at the roll of stamps like it was a moon rock it seemed to me.

The supervisor looked at the receipt. He looked at the back of the receipt, which was blank. The supervisor then spoke. The supervisor said the words "inventory control" and inventory control did seem to me a desideratum of sufficient gravity to warrant a supervisor's attention and the neglect of his crossword puzzle but this worthy ideal was imperfectly linked to the necessity of returning the roll of stamps to the precise clerk from whom they were bought it seemed to me from listening to the supervisor's explanation which I only indistinctly heard because it was mumbled in the manner unique to supervisors when explaining.

We were in a thicket and I attempted to hack ourselves out with the machete of the simple declarative sentence which I hoped would appeal to his humanity: "It doesn't make sense that I would have to return them to the same clerk." I said this in a low, even-toned voice that I calculated would be non-challenging to the authority and wisdom of a Supervisor.

The supervisor then said he would make a Call. A Call meant that I had gotten to him with my low, even-toned, non-challenging voice and that higher authorities, supervisors of supervisors, were to be consulted and I felt pleased.

Moments later the clerk reappeared sans supervisor. I took this as an ill omen which the clerk confirmed by informing me of the Decision. I could not have my money back even though I had not opened the roll of stamps and had purchased them the same day because of the fatality of the clerk I had purchased them from having left at 3 pm. The Supervisors had offered me the consolation of an exchange of the roll of 10 cent stamps for their equivalent in 44 cent first class stamps. However the clerk added that the Supervisors had decided that there would be a 10%, or $5, penalty that I would incur for agreeing to their generosity. I thanked her with a wan smile and took my roll of 10 cent stamps and turned and walked away, the instantiation of Defeat.

"Next in line," the clerk called.