Post office huff, and return.

When I went to go mail out some packages right before Christmas at the one post office near my new apartment, in this one kind of dilapidated wood and tile place in a building that kind of vaguely looks historic, the (plump) (white) Post Office lady sent off the one essential package, and then I asked her about if it was true that they had increased the shipping prices for the holidays, and she said that they had, and so I said I was actually going to wait to mail the rest out, since, and I know she wasn't responsible for it, since it felt like price-gouging, and even though it wasn't that much money, I didn't want to pay that money on principle, and I couldn't believe that that one Trump postmaster had been doing stuff like that, I had heard he was pulling a lot of fast ones like that with how stuff was working at the Post Office. And, there was this one (older) (slim) (hard-bitten) (white) Post Office lady with dyed brown hair and huge curled bangs to the left behind the Plexiglass counter, who was just sitting there and not helping anyone, and who didn't seem to be doing much of anything. So, the next time I went in like a week later to go and mail the remaining packages, the (plump) (white) Post Office lady wasn't there at her counter, but the one (older) (slim) (hard-bitten) (white) Post Office lady was, and so I was confused if I could go to her, or if I should wait. "Are you the person I go to?", I was like. "I'm the only one here, ain't I?", she was like, rasping it out in a cigarette smoker's voice, before giving me a not unfriendly but still kind of harsh kind of laugh.