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He starts to ponder other ways of finding his dad when he notices the
car is low on gas. He pulls into a gas station and while filling up he remembers that his grandpa, Hamilton Sr.,
has said, on more than three hundred occasions, "Go to the Post Office, take the Civil Service exam. I worked
for the Post Office for thirty years, and they know me down there, I can get you a job." He claims that he
still knew such and such in such and such an important position that would give him a job if he would only go down
there.
When the tank is full and the gas has been paid for he makes for the Post Office. The parking lot is empty and
when he is in the building there is a sturdy metal partition pulled down over the counter and a strong ink and
paper smell. He knocks on the partition and waits for a few minutes; keeping busy by holding his middle fingers
up at the surveillance camera. He realizes no one is coming and turns to leave just as an elderly woman comes in
and walks to the wall of little doors. Momentarily the Post-Office-smell is masked by her perfume.
She unlocks one and takes out some paper. He puts his hands over his eyes and watches her from between his fingers.
The woman watches him as she scuffles out. His headache is reinforced by the geriatrics sordid perfume. He pounds
on the partition, buys a one cent stamp and scuffles out like an elderly lady minus the perfume.
He is hungry so he goes home. When he is there two blueberry Pop Tarts get put in the toaster and he calls Nancy,
the girl he had spent all night on the phone with. Her dad asks:
"Who is this?"
"Where are you from?"
"How do you know my daughter?"
"Why are you calling?"
"How old are you?"
"Do you have a job?"
"What's your name again?"
And then says that Nancy is at work.
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