I had just moved to the little town of Clover, South Carolina and didn't know a soul. I was single at the time and working crazy around-the-clock hours and I didn't get out much to meet new people. Our company was understaffed and not financially in a position to hire an assistant that could take all of our business shipments to the Post Office. So, the daily delivery run fell on me and became my only social outing and something I really looked forward to.

Joyce worked behind the postal counter accepting packages, ringing up the total with a smile and calling customers by their first name. She took her own sweet time and always had a tidbit of gossipy news or a story to tell. She entertained herself, her coworkers and the patrons who frequented her counter.

Due to the occasional crowds or limited time in my schedule, I would get in another line, but if I had the time to spare, I would wait in line for Joyce.
Early one foggy morning I dropped by the Post Office to mail my stuff, and as I approached the front, there was a group of fifteen or so people gathered around in hushed silence and retrospect. Finally one lamented, "Golly Joyce, I'm sure gonna miss you."

"I missed the first part of the conversation, where are you going Joyce?"

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