Within a week of moving to New York, I was dead-broke (I had a little credit but not much).  My new friendly coworkers wanted to go out drinking, so I cunningly persuaded them to trek all the way to Brooklyn to my new favorite bar, The Levee.  Upon entering they

Look at that sexy beast…wow.  Could you imagine holding this bill?  You’d be like, “Shit, man.  I’ve got $5,000 in my wallet.  Fuck buying a bacon wrapped hot dog, I can buy the whole cart and still have change left over to buy all the bootlegged DVDs on Mission Street!!”

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Between shipping out books, shirts and bags, I spend WAY too much time in this particular post office. Considering I started doing zines in 2004, I’ve been coming here roughly once a week or so for about five years. And all I’ve gotten for my trouble is a lowered general moral and a lot of time standing in line. I’ve given this place some of my best years. What follows is the 3 reasons why I hate this place so much.