breakdown at the PO

Thank you, NatWest Greenwich bank guy. The interim statement you requested on my behalf was shoved through my door on Saturday morning, three days earlier than expected. I re-enveloped it and took it to the post office to send to my case handler about an hour ago. I was fine addressing it, hiking up there, waiting in line...then I got to the window and the shit hit my mental fan.

Hands shaking, I slid the envelope to the attendant and she asked what I wanted her to do with it. I said I didn't know, I needed to get it there by...

'Tomorrow?' she helpfully supplied. 'That'd be registered mail, guaranteed by tomorrow. £5.20. You'll get a tracking number.'

Wow, that's a lot of money. It doesn't weigh anything. That seems ridiculous.

'What's first class?'

'£1.20, but it's not guaranteed overnight. It may get there in two to three days. Are the contents valuable?'

'Financially, no, but valuable. Um.'

'Are they replaceable?'

'I... I don't know. I mean technically yes, they were free, but they're worth a lot to my visa, they're worth everything. But if they don't get there by Friday they're worthless. Absolutely worthless. I could get more copies if they were damaged but it wouldn't happen in time and by then I'd be riding freight back to the port of Charleston and OH GOD JUST SEND IT REGISTERED. I'll have to pay debit because I don't have any cash because I'm broke and you know five quid really shouldn't feel like that much money but it's a lot to meeee...'

Cue breakdown into tears in the Co-Op a few minutes later. I'm sorry, Post Office worker. I don't know how much of the above I actually said.