Canadian visitor thanks Princeton’s post office

Daniel Ngai of Burnaby, British Columbia
    One day last month, Lixiao, my daughter-in-law, took my wife and me to the post office on Palmer Square to mail a shoulder bag to Hong Kong. The clerk behind a small window was an elderly man named Ron. After explaining to us about the rates, he handed L back our bag and box together with a declaration form, advising, “Just go fill it out, make sure your addresses are correct, and then we’ll take care of the rest when you come back.”
   But he hadn’t finished yet; peering at my wife, who was standing between L and me, he asked L, “Is that your mother?”
   ”Well, she’s my mother-in-law, from Vancouver.”
   ”Oh, wishing you a wonderful time together!” Upon saying so, Ron thrust three lollipops into L’s hands. This was a gesture enough to make us want to come back even if not to drop off the parcel.
   In fact, my wife and I lost no time going to the office by ourselves early next morning, longing to meet the old man again. There he was behind the same window. Handing over to him what we had prepared, I cheerfully reminded him we were the couple who came the day before with our daughter-in-law, and we had the pleasure of enjoying three lollipops he gave away.
   ”Oh, I remember you. The candies were just to make you happy.”
   Ron kept smiling while processing our item. When it was about done, he picked up a sticker and bottomed it outward for us to see the words “I Love You” on it.
   ”Would you like to have these words added?”
   ”Certainly,” I answered eagerly. So he pressed the sticker squarely on one blank corner of our address label before asking again, “And is this meant for a birthday?”
   ”Yes, it is.”
   ”Then how about this?” Now, in his hand, for us to examine, was another sticker, bearing the words “Wishing You a Happy Birthday!”
   We were more than happy this time, and readily accepted his offer. At this, Ron pressed the stamp neatly on the other blank corner of the label. To cap it all, he covered it with an additional piece of Scotch, saying, “So that it won’t be dirtied.”
   ”You’re just being thoughtful. We appreciate your service, your smile, and your neatly combed hair at that,” I said. I ventured the last bit of compliment jocularly as I had noticed that, in his shirt pocket, there were, besides a pen, a marker, and a notebook, a protruding end of a comb.
   ”Oh, yeah.” Briskly pulling out something like a tongue-depressor from the pocket, he grinned, sporting his gleaming white teeth: “I keep this to brush my teeth.”
   Irresistibly I chuckled. On our way home, I told my wife that the depressor-like slab was unmistakably a nail file — to keep his nails smooth and tidy, I bet.
Daniel Ngai
Oakmount Crescent
Burnaby BC
Canada 