To the Marshall Islands, with love

Over the past couple of weeks, there has been a growing certainty in my mind: the US Postmaster General had a terrible vacation in the Marshall Islands.  I'm guessing the scope of the terribleness of said vacation can only be encompassed by such words as lost luggage, missing martinis, and mother-in-law.  How have I come to the knowledge of this god-awful vacation?  Let me tell you a story.

Once, there was a little mailroom worker named Saasan.  She worked hard everyday, sorting and metering mail, sending letters and packages all over the world.  One day, a flat came in to be sent to the Marshall Islands.  She weighed the flat, and asked the metering machine how much it would cost to send.  No flats could be sent to the Marshall Islands.  What?  asked Saasan.  It's okay, said her boss, sometimes you have to take foreign things to be weighed at the Post Office.  So Saasan set it aside, working instead on a large project of US packages.  The next day, she saw she had many foreign flats.  She started weighing them.  Okay!  said the machine.  Was only the Marshall Islands unloved?  She weighed it again.  Okay!  said the machine.  Saasan shrugged and took care of the flat.

The next week, another flat for the Marshall Islands arrived.  Saasan weighed it.  It's too heavy!  said the machine.  She tried it as a parcel.  No parcels! said the machine.  She tried it as a package.  OMG! said the machine, forcing the computer to reboot.  Saasan set the flat aside, and struggled with the machine for the remainder of the day.

Two days later, she got another flat for the Marshall Islands, but this time she new better.  She is going to take it straight to the Post Office.  Fool me twice, shame on you.