I went to the post office yesterday to drop off a writing contest entry. But this isn’t a post about the virtue, or lack thereof, of writing contests. The thing that really struck me was noticing how the counter was completely walled-off with bulletproof glass. Each window had an airlock-like structure in which a customer inserts mail, with the postal worker then opening a door on the other side.

Is my neighborhood really that unsafe? I was pretty sure that, living on the west side as I do, I was avoiding much of the crime component of L.A.

Sure, the liquor store near my last place had a big wall of bulletproof glass protecting the attendant. It had a lazy susan of thick acrylic through which people would exchange their candy bars and cash. And when it went up, I couldn’t help thinking maybe my neighborhood wasn’t as safe as I thought. But mostly, I just figured it for overkill, and most of the people who worked there laughed it off, too, happily moving about the store without feeling any need to hide in their industrial plastic sanctuary.

Of course, a liquor store is the kind of place one would expect such precautions. Conceivably, they get robbed more often than other establishments. I can’t assume that a post office is a risky enough place to work to justify the expense of all that armored windowing. Similarly, the drive-through window of the Jack in the Box on the way home from Hollywood the other day featured security on par with a bank.

I gotta figure such investment in “safety” comes primarily from the current, ridiculous culture of fear. I breathe easier knowing there’s a light at the end of the tunnel. In one year, eight months, eighteen days, someone else–ANYONE ELSE–will take office. Maybe then people will stress out less about selling people Jumbo Jacks, or stamps.

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