Officially, it is the Believer Square Postal Station, but Francine always thinks of it as the ghetto post office. Located a block off the Square, the post office is surrounded by liquor store with a sign proclaiming "The Neighborhood's Largest Selection Of Malt Liquor Forty-Ouncers And Menthol Cigarettes", a fast food chicken joint serving "Hot Chicken For Hot Men And Hot Women", a beauty shop specializing in weaves, a pawn shop with an array of handguns in the barred window display, a checks cashed store that rips off the poor with cash advances that amount to about 300% interest eventually, a rent-to-own store that sells appliances marked up to about five times their usual cost but features "low monthly payments" catering to impulse buys, and five vacant storefronts with broken windows and graffiti sprinkled throughout the block. And, today, as an extra special bonus, the Hoopies are set up in the parking lot. The Hoopies are brainwashed representatives of the Hoopsnake Bildungsroman League, a revolutionary offshoot of the Democratic Party devoted to spreading the "genius" ideas of their founder, 90-year-old Herbert Hoopsnake, intellectual prodigy of the 1920s, depression youth of the 1930s, war hero of the 1940s, factional communist of the 1950s, acid casualty of the 1960s, new ager of the 1970s, embezzlement felon of the 1980s, Internet technocrat of the 1990s, conspiracy theorist of the 2000s, and political cult leader du jour of the 2010s. Today's Hoopies are a young, black woman and a middle-aged, white man, who both wear matching red, white, and blue, "Hoopsnake For President" t-shirts under their red, white, and blue "Hoopsnake Bildungsroman League" jackets. Both have desperate but otherwise vacant looks in their eyes as they peddle pamphlets by Hoopsnake and try to solicit donations. The woman approaches Francine as Francine aims for the post office doors, "Hello, sister, would you like a pamphlet? Have you ever wondered why the world is in such a terrible state? We have the answers."
Francine vows to be gentle. People will often do anything when someone tells them what they want to hear, explains that it's not their fault that their lives suck, and gives them an enemy to blame everything on, which for Hoopies is the British Empire and a cartel of Tory international bankers, who have covertly conspired to take back the American colonies through the Republican Party, and Hoopsnake's Democratic rivals. Ideally Francine would really just like to check her post office box and leave, but she can never resist having a bit of fun with the Hoopies. "Sure," Francine says.
"Great," the man says, "Hoopsnake just put out a statement protesting that he hasn't been let in any of the presidential debates."
"That is a shame," Francine says, as she peruses the pamphlets and books they have set up on their card table, "They would definitely be more entertaining with him. He definitely has even nuttier ideas than the other candidates, which is an amazing feat since the mainstream of American politics is by any objective standard absolutely insanely paranoid, delusional, and out of touch with reality."
"Yes, Double H is the best," the woman says, apparently not detecting Francine's sarcasm, "Do you know no one has mentioned our plans for revitalizing the world economy by building nuclear powered trains that will also serve as traveling colleges? The students, like myself, would work on the trains to pay for school and take classes in our off-hours."
"Uh, huh, that sounds like something a cult of personality would come up with. What's this one about?" Francine says, picking up a pamphlet whose headline screams, "The President Without An Id Is A Present!"
"Oh," the man says, "That's about how Dick is sick. Without his body, he's lost his unconscious bodily desires, and without his id, his superego is running rampant seeking to impose itself on the entire country. The man, or head, I guess, needs to see a psychoanalyst and the country needs him to resign before he makes us all sick as well."
"Hmm . . . that actually sounds about right," Francine says, eyeing the poster that hangs from the cardtable, which states "Unemployed? Poor? Tired of Being Miserable? Do Something About It! Join The Hoopsnake Bildungsroman League!" in large print, and in fine print, "$25 and your mind, minimum new membership dues."
"Herbert Hoopsnake is a genius. That's why he should be the president. Would you like to make a donation to his campaign?" the woman says, smiling and holding up a donation bucket that based on the rattle appears to have only a few pennies in it.
"No, as your literature about the imminent worldwide economic collapse of industrial society points out, the economy has people a bit stretched, and I'm afraid that includes me as well. Well, gotta go, good luck!" Francine says, and heads towards the post office door, patting herself on the back for being nice to them today.
The Hoopies say "Bye," along with a final, garbled plea to come talk some more when she comes out, and then direct their attention to the next person in the parking lot, an older black man who limps/struts towards the doorway.
"Hello brother," the male Hoopie says, "Would you like a pamphlet? Have you ever wondered why the world is in such a terrible state? We have the answers."
"Shit, I don't need answers. I need fucking stamps. And I don't have any time for your bullshit today, so unless Herbert Hoopsnake is going to give me some fucking money or some fucking stamps, you can fuck off," the man says as he heads inside the post office.
Francine will have to remember that line for her next trip to the post office.
Blog Love Omega Glee is a novel by Wred Fright about two bloggers who fall in love while the world falls apart, which is being serialized on his blog. To start reading from the beginning or read another installment, please visit Blog Love Omega Glee Central on WredFright.Com. If you like what you've read, or you've read all of Blog Love Omega Glee and want more Fright, then please read his first novel, which is available in print and as an ebook.
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