Going Postal
Over the years, I have threatened to write a song called, "My Mailman Hates Me," and it may be time to do just that. I am not very faithful about checking my mail. The poor guy has committed violence against my mail drop making fan-like folds in my letters and such by cramming more and more into that little box of mine. Sometimes, the news ads are even ripped up. The box gets so full that I have to extract stuff in the middle of the pile to create enough space to get it out little by little. I have walked off with an armload, marveling at how he managed to cram such volume into such a tight space. I guess the violence against my mail should have been a big hint.
Last week on a Tuesday, I could not get my key into my mailbox lock. Thinking that maybe the cold caused some kind of issue, I waited until the next day and took some WD-40 down to the box and still, no luck. Something was stuck inside the keyhole.
So, I went to the post office that Saturday and paid my $25 to put in a maintenance order to have my lock changed out. Later in the afternoon, I went to hunt down the postman in my neighborhood and found him a block over.
"Sir, when will you be coming to my street?"
He glared at me hard and said, "I'm coming over there next."
"I'll wait for you then."
As he pulled up to my group of boxes, I yanked out my drivers license and showed it to him so I could get my mail. "There isn't a problem on this end," he said.
"No sir, it's on the other side. Something's crammed into the lock."
As he handed me my pile of mail he said, "You really should check your mail more often."
I started mumbling some excuse about it being a busy week and he piped in with, "I mean OVER THE YEARS. Sometimes you go two weeks without checking your mail. Maybe that's why that happened with your lock."
He had had enough!
"I promise I'll try to do better."
"You do that," he said.
So, today
at a family luncheon I related this story. My sister believes I had it coming,
that my mailman had just about enough of cramming my mail to capacity over
the years. She couldn't stop laughing about it.
I then told my mom about a dream I had that someone had yanked the back
wheels off of my car and left it sitting on the frame in my driveway. She
said, "Maybe the postman did that, too!" And she laughed her head
off.
I have been checking my mail DAILY for a week, and I have a Starbucks gift
card waiting for my mailman the next time I see him. After all, I can't
prove he jammed my lock, but I surely don't want him going postal any further.
Maybe some good java, some good mail behavior on my part and the apology
will ease his mind.
The Shredded Mail,
Angry Lesbian
01/31/2009