Part I:
I'm an older Filipina woman, short, chunky, gray-haired, and I'm with my older Filipino husband at some university. It's a very hot day, the air conditioning is broken so doors are open all over the place which are normally locked. One of those are the big double doors to the university's post office, which is actually a detached building next to the one we're in. My husband gives a nod to say "let's go in there, I have a plan". We sneak in, and I ask him something about breaking university rules, and he says that we're now on USPS property, it's like being in a foreign embassy because the university has no jurisdiction. And he adds that even if the air con comes back on at the U, the PO will keep its doors open.
He tells me to wait by the door, and I see him go to a corner and grab two very large empty mail sacks which are made of blue rip-stop nylon (not the old white ones) and they have the modern USPS logo silk screened onto them. He hands one to me.
Part II:
We're sitting on a bench in the hallway of a completely different post office, this one is a small branch, maybe the one in Sunnyvale Town Center (or at least like it - small, older, in need of remodeling) and we are waiting for them to open, I think. I keep seeing myself in profile, and complain to my husband that my nose is ugly. He asks what's wrong with it, it's just like his nose. I tell him it is not long enough, and it's too flat. He harumphs and mumbles something like "don't worry about it so much" as if this is a constant complaint from me. Meanwhile, he is putting on his mail sack as if he's going to be in a potato sack race. For some reason this makes perfect sense to me, he's got it on inside out, and this will make it easy for him to wrap it around a pile of mail, slither it off, and pull the cords shut around the captured mail, with him now on the outside of the bag.
A door at the far end of the hall is propped open, and my husband shuffles toward it, with me a couple of feet behind him, carrying my mail bag bunched up close to my chest. We look inside the door, and see the coast is clear. I wait just inside the door while he shuffles to the back of the room. There are no piles of mail, or anything else valuable. At this point I notice there is a second door, three feet or so further into the room, and I place myself halfway between the two doors.
A postal worker appears from the front of the room, and is confused about seeing us there. Husband looks embarrassed, and he shrugs out of his mail bag, saying something about returning it, and leaves it on the floor as he heads to the second door, and I hand my bag to the worker as I leave out the first door, as a way to distract the worker.
