Have we ever told you just how grateful we are to the Audubon Station Post Office in Washington Heights? They have taught us so much, and not just about patience and resolve when it comes to standing in the six-hour lines that perpetually meander through their sallow, fluorescent interiors, but about the need to resign ourselves to the inherent uncertainty of modern life. Why would we want to live in a gentrified neighborhood or — god forbid — the suburbs, when here in Washington Heights we can experience the almost daily exhilaration that comes from knowing that only fifty percent of the mail addressed to us can ever be expected to end up in our hands? (Tax season is particularly — no, deliciously! — excruciating in this regard.) Others might complain about their demonstrated failure to ever deliver packages, much less leave notices, but to these misguided souls we ask: where else could we better learn such important lessons with regard to own futility; our inability to change a single thing; our essential powerlessness to make clear the truth to those so unwilling to hear? Where else can we be so sternly reminded that in this business of life, the customer is always (at least eventually) wrong? In short, nowhere but the Audubon Station branch of the United States Postal Service in Washington Heights! Hardly a day passes when we do not thank them for imparting to us these invaluable insights, which are so critical to a life of reclusive, pessimistic bliss!