I realized recently I didn't know where the (main) Post Office is in Sioux Falls, my hometown ~ & that was, I finally figured out, because I always had what my dad called franking privileges. I left my outgoing mail (then, as now, largely postcards) by the front door & he took care of it. That was his dry sense of humor ~ he never pointed out that he was granting me governmental mailing, as though I were addressing my constituents. He just silently sent my correspondence & if anyone got his little joke, or not, it was all the same to him. For the record, I'm still not sure where the P.O. is, but it must have been near his office & my high school (which were a block apart) and most likely made of venerable Sioux quartzite.
My branch now is famously bad & used to be where all the unemployable-but-unfireable ended up. They still are pretty horrible there & you have to approach on your knees if you want them to mail anything for you. Not long ago, one of the workers there yelled at me because I thought the postage was $2.06 when it was really $2.07. Yelled.
Becky, I know you're going to let me know the facts of the case!