Providing Hours of Entertainment for the Friendly Neighborhood Letter Carrier
We've been convinced for some time that we have the Angriest Postman Ever. This is best demonstrated by the effort the postman in question clearly exerts in stuffing our mail into the mailbox in the manner that will crush it into as small a ball as is humanly possible. In fact, the glee with which the postman clearly folds and crumples our bills and magazines and credit card offers is matched only by the skill it must take to shove a quantity of mail, not vertically (this is key), but horizontally into the mail slot. In this way, even a single letter sitting by its lonesome can appear crowded.
Since the mail doesn't usually even come till 4:00 pm or later, we haven't had occasion to run into one of our illustrious letter carriers before. But today, on the way back from a last run to the grocery store before the cars start piling up in DNC gridlock never to be set free, I happened to be walking up the steps toward the door as the same time as the Mailman-type guy.
He was young and cheerful, and in an effort to try and extend the proverbial olive branch, I decided to be my friendliest. I shot him a winning smile to go with my: "Hi there! How are you today?"
He smiled in return and replied with a typical: "Good. How are you?"
"I'm fine." I grinned. "So, are they making you guys rush through and bang it all out before they start closing 93?" I asked, sympathetically, my face the picture of empathy and perhaps a pinch of please, please, for the love of GOD stop crushing my mail you mail-crushing freak.
"Yeah," he nodded, "We can't park on this street. The post office is right there, up the street, but we have to park on side streets. Not to get all political or anything, but I'm a Republican."
Sean had joined me by this time, and we both laughed the nervous laugh that you laugh when someone says something that you realize should be embarrassing to them (something like: "Yeah, my ass cream really isn't working too well today. I'll have to use a baking soda poultice later on...") but for some reason clearly isn't.
"Are you on the third floor?" He asked.
We nodded, and he handed us a stack of mail and said his pleasant goodbyes. We walked upstairs and Sean assured me that he would begin putting the groceries away while I checked my messages and washed my hands.
When all was finished, I joined Sean in the kitchen to help sort through the produce. "So," he began "Isn't it nice that now that mailman can put our faces to our names?"
I looked at him quizzically. "I guess. But I'm not sure if he is the evil mail crusher. I mean, you subscribe to U.S. News. That's pretty conservative..."
Sean grinned knowingly. "Look at the mail. Isn't it nice that now the mailman can put your face to your name?"
Annoyed, I looked down at the mail. A U.S. News, a bank statement, a credit card offer. All for Sean. "I don't follow. I have no idea what you're talking about---"
At this point, I lifted up the U.S. News and saw what was under it. That would be a big, glossy envelope, addressed to me, promising Jenna Jameson's favorite naughty treats inside! XXX for adults only! For a limited time! LAST ISSUE!! 25 Free Videos with order! Free Pin-up poster of Jenna inside!