Charleston Post Office

About this location

A few stories people tell about this place

1. It was an unusually quiet morning in Charleston’s post office when a delivery driver noticed something peculiar. The usually bustling hallway between mailboxes had fallen eerily silent, replaced by the sound of faint humming. Curious, he followed the noise and found an old lady diligently sorting letters into boxes, her headphones playing soft jazz. ‘Morning!’ she chirped without noticing him. The delivery driver cleared his throat gently. She jumped, removed her earbuds with a smile, and said, “Oh, hello there! I thought I was alone here.” They both laughed, and soon became regular morning companions, sharing jokes while the rest of the post office remained obliviously silent.

2. A small boy entered the Charleston Post Office one afternoon, clutching a package wrapped in bright paper. As he approached the counter, the postal clerk noticed something peculiar—every time the boy spoke, the stamps on the packages around him seemed to shiver ever so slightly. The clerk leaned closer, trying not to laugh. ‘I think your voice has a bit of a tremble,’ she whispered gently. The boy nodded shyly and said, ‘It’s just nerves.’ As he walked away, everyone heard his last words clearly: “Next time I’ll try speaking louder.”

3. At dawn, a postal worker opened the Charleston Post Office and froze. The air was filled with the scent of freshly baked cookies, wafting from somewhere inside. Curious, he followed the aroma deeper into the building, only to discover an old lady sitting in the mailroom, her oven mittens still on. ‘Morning!’ she said cheerfully, holding out a plate of warm cookies. ‘I always bake some for the staff when I come early.’ Everyone got a cookie that day—even the most grumpy delivery driver smiled, muttering something about how nice it was to start work with such sweetness.

4. At first light, a postal worker unlocked the Charleston Post Office and noticed something peculiar on the counter: a stack of letters addressed to ‘The Next President of the United States.’ Upon closer inspection, he found that every letter was identical—all written in childish handwriting, with the same message scribbled across each envelope: ‘Please be nice!’ As the day went on, more letters trickled in, until finally an old lady from down the street stopped by to explain: ‘It’s our little neighborhood tradition. Every election year, we send these letters to remind future presidents how much we care.’