Continuing her focus on everyday life, Drakulić recounts a trip to the post office, a place that is often crowded as it is where bills are paid. She quickly realizes she may have to come back, as the cashier is about to take a midmorning break. While some in line with her complain, others are resigned, effectively asking themselves, “isn’t time the cheapest thing in this part of the world?” (93). Drakulić likens the post office to a kind of “living room” and notes all of the visible information about her neighbors: the cost of their phone bills, how large their apartments must be, and that her own phone bill is “enormous” because of international calls (94).

Drakulić recalls that in 1990 all citizens were told that the lines would now have special yellow markers so that those in line could stand back and give the person at the window “privacy” (95). Drakulić sardonically wonders why this is a presidential priority in a country facing ethnic tensions and economic crisis, and imagines that the new president must have his own memories of the crowded post office to drive the new policy. She connects this to a broader change in values: Under communism, “privacy meant that you had something to hide” (97).