Going Postal
Or Parkour, Pre-Planning, and Police Helicopters.



When I first set my eyes on this task, I knew it was destined to be a doozy. Oh, I fought it, alright. I tried to make due with pretending to leave my own house in the middle of the day and then sneaking back in. But not only did I fail at that - miserably - I knew that it was not enough.

I spoke to Lincoln about potential targets. He coolly suggested a barefoot foray into an office complex, or a quick and stealthy trip through a police station. Both intrigued me, but neither seemed readily possible. I decided to do some field research. I was halfway to my car, on my way to case an office building in Downtown LA, when I realized that I had a much better target just a few blocks away:

The Post-Office.

What other building is heavily secured, but open to the public on a daily basis? My first move was to show up at the post office and request a tour. The main counter was closed, it being nearly 6:00, and I found myself shouting at a disgruntled woman on the other side of the locked glass doors until another woman poked her head through a door I hadn't seen before and offered to help me. I told her I was a student, and that I needed a tour of the post office as part of a project I was doing. She gave me a phone number to call and promised to lead me on a tour herself in a few days' time.

It was not nearly that easy.

When I called, I was told that a single person couldn't be granted a tour, for security reasons. I pleaded, saying that my project was at stake, and got the number of the LA County District Supervisor. I called him, discussed my situation, and began an email correspondence that lasted three days. In the correspondence, I explained the nature of my project:



Finally, success! My story was bought, and I managed to schedule an appointment with the Post Office Manager. Once my meeting was set in stone, I decided to do a little reconnaissance of my own. On the Thursday preceding my meeting, I left work and parked my car in a nearby Vons parking lot.



First, I took a street that ran parallel to the post office until I could cut across to the back fence of the employee parking lot.



Once there, I snapped a few pictures, and quickly realized I was not going to be able to get over the barbed wire on that side. So I circled back around to the entry point I had originally chosen. On the way, I stopped in the front parking lot of the post office and pretended to drop off a letter, watching to see if anyone was still inside.

Having seen no one, I proceeded to the other side of the building, where I had already scouted out a wall I intended to climb.



It turned out to be too tall. So I climbed onto the other wall, the one with the barbed wire, and used it to boost myself up onto the other wall. This put me on the roof of the building.



I looked around for a safe way down, assuming that whoever did maintenance work had to have an easy way up. After finding their way up - and realizing that it was locked - I was forced to take the hard, dangerous way down.



I jumped down into a small, barbed-wired enclosure just on the other side of the wall I had previously climbed. From there, I grabbed onto the taller wall, shimmied over the barbed wire, and jumped down into the parking lot. I was very pleased with myself.

Once in the parking lot, I decided to scout out the most obvious entrances: the ones by the loading dock.



I walked up the ramp and quickly noticed what I thought was a security camera. Covering my face and dodging past it, I found a few other articles of interest:

A sign informing me of my delicate situation,



A patriotic teddy-bear,



And some hearty encouragement to continue my quest.



The last picture was taken through one of the doors, and it bolstered my morale greatly. I once again put my shirt over my nose and mouth and headed towards what I suspected was a security camera, to see if it really was one.



It was, in fact, a light fixture. An empty one at that. I breathed a sigh of relief, and chided myself for being so paranoid. I heard a helicopter in the distance, and laughed. "I bet it's coming for me," I said, sarcastically.


IT WAS COMING FOR ME.

I heard the rotors come uncomfortably close, and saw the spotlight sweeping the parking lot. I sat huddled in a corner of the loading dock, thanking my lucky hat that the roof prevented the helicopter from spotting me. Every time I thought it had left, the spotlight returned, and the rotors grew louder once more. I began to worry I would be there all night, or that the SWAT team was already on the way.

But the helicopter did leave, and I breathed a sigh of relief that made my previous sigh of relief sound like a nervous hiccup. I took a photograph out of pure relief.



After waiting a few minutes to make sure the helicopter was really gone, I hurried back onto the roof, and away from the building. Once I was back on the ground, I brushed the dirt off my shirt and began to walk back to my car. My route took me past the front of the post office.



Where a police car was waiting, presumably for the wily outlaw who broke into the building. I casually snapped a blurry photograph as I crossed the street away from it, and never looked back after that. I had to pull over on the way home to make sure no one was following me.

Cut to the following Monday. I still had an appointment to go to, and I didn't want my tour guide to recognize my face from any security footage he might have had. Thus, a change of appearance was in order. Here I am before the process:



And here I am afterward:



The transformation was complete. I also put on a pair of orange leather shoes to detract attention from my face.

I wasn't allowed to take pictures during my interview for nebulous security reasons, so all I have to offer as proof is my sheet of hastily scribbled notes, some pamphlets, and a pen I stole from the Manager's office.



Among the important things I learned:

- Don't use "Media Mail." Postal processors are legally allowed to read it without warning.

- There are one-way mirrors high up on the walls about every four feet in the sorting room. These allow the Postal Police to monitor post office activities at random points throughout the day. Not even the workers know when they are being watched.

- All post offices are set up the exact same way. There are absolutely no policy differences from one post office to another.

- The Postal Police are an autonomous body solely responsible for patrolling and monitoring post offices. The helicopter that came looking for me was probably part of a routine patrol. The Postal Police do not notify post office staff of attempted break-ins or other events.

- The manager had no idea that I had snuck in the previous night, and I had apparently not appeared on any security cameras. (I asked how effective security cameras had been at monitoring break-ins. He said there were no such events that he knew of.)

...As well of a host of information about the way mail is sorted and delivered that I intend to use in a later praxis.

The manager stopped at regular intervals when he caught himself saying too much. There were a lot of criteria for identifying dangerous packages that he wasn't allowed to tell me. The fact that he constantly had to worry about giving away too much counter-terrorism information distracted him from my questions about building security.

Unfortunately, none of this changes the fact that the building is very secure. There is at least one security camera directly over each entrance, in addition to the secret Postal Police observation room. I still have one more plan for infiltration, but unless I am very lucky, this is as far into the post office as I am going to be able to sneak.