"I'm going to come back and come after you if this letter doesn't get there." The woman's voice rang out in the cavernous Grand Central Post office during the lunchtime rush. All I wanted to do was to mail some New Year's cards. But this modern world had claimed this woman's patience. The insistent tone of the middle-aged woman suggested a specific kind of frustration, or rather the accumulation of a lifetime of frustrations. The ones that lay dormant until we can unleash them on an unsuspecting service employee minding their public business. These people are the perfect target of our anger, often because they are providing sub-standard service in a way that is so easy to pinpoint. Because who is doing a really good job, anyways? To get top-notch service you have to pay for it or be in a country that values such things for the general public.  The shrill woman's complaint soon morphed into a, "can I speak to the manager?" and I felt bad for everyone involved on both sides of the wicket. Because we all deserve better.