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After our tavern breakfast yesterday, it was off to the races to complete the homemade wedding invitation suite– printing off response cards, compiling address labels, and assembling envelopes. But first, we needed stamps. Lots of stamps.
 

Apparently wedding stamps are a hot item this time of year, because the Boalsburg Post Office was fresh out. So it was off to the State College Post Office, where the lines are a mile long, the staff is scarce and they are as grumpy as can be. Not to mention, no matter what day it is, everyone seems to wait until the last 10 minutes of the post office being open to go mail or pick up crucial things. (Ourselves included…we had to get those stamps!)

When it was finally our turn, we stepped up to the friendly looking redheaded post office man and informed him that we needed about 300 stamps. After some confusion and debate about whether we needed one or two stamps for each envelope (who knew that stamps were one ounce or two ounce?), we were told to step to the side. Because we were going to need to talk to the Stamp Guy. 

“Have you ever seen that episode of Seinfeld?,” he said. “He’s like the Soup Nazi. The Stamp Nazi. And you don’t want to make him mad.”

My mom and I thought this was hysterical. “Like the Assman!,” we said.

Post Office Guy: “Huh?”
Mom: “Have you seen THAT Seinfeld? When Kramer’s the Assman!”
Post Office Guy: *Blank Stare*
Mom: “Assman….The Stamp Man!”
Post Office Guy: “Stamp Guy.”
Us: “We’ll just step aside.” 

So there we stood in cahoots, as he moved to help another customer, clearly displeased at the humor we found in the whole thing. If you’ve ever seen my mom and I together, you know that when we get to laughing about something (especially when it’s inappropriate) we are an impossible force to stop. I’m talking busting a gut, peeing your pants, scrunched up face, and crying laughter here, and the more we go, the more we egg each other on. It’s just bad news.

But suddenly, the Stamp Guy emerged from the back, clutching a handful of stamps. It was time to get serious. In perfect unison, Mom and I stepped back over to the desk to get our soup…er, stamps, fighting back giggles that would set us off again.

Without acknowledging us, the Stamp Guy roughly said to the redhead, “This is all we got. Just the wedding ring stamps. When I counted ’em I was one off, so you’re gonna have to count ’em again.”

As the redhead counted, he pointed out a college kid standing in the still-growing line. “You see that guy back there? He’s the richest guy in State College. Wanna know why? Because he sells Monopoly pieces. On Ebay.”

It was our turn for the blank stare.

He counted 300, and gave us our stamps. We left, puzzled by the series of events that had just taken place.

But it was time to get busy! We even put the fiance to work. Fueled by coffee and homemade peanut butter eggs, every invitation was put together and is now ready to mail. First major wedding DIY project is checked off….for good!

The ultimate Stamp Guy. Way better looking, too.

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