Another Day on the Job

Being a post man has its advantages. I get to be the first to view every new Victoria's Secret cover model that goes out the PO doors. Getting to drive a right hand drive vehicle, and spending all day out side also are some of the perks.
Disadvantages. On any given day I hear about three or four cliche phrases that have come about in five or six varying forms. "Please don't put any bills in the box," which also comes in such flavors as "Don't want any bills," "Don't give me the mail if there are any bills in there," and my personal favorite "Is there anything good in there or just bills." I reply with what I am thinking, how should I know, but it would be just the same if I said, same shit different day.

People also don't under stand that the mail doesn't always come the same time every day. But no matter what you tell them, if the mail came yesterday at 1:15, then why is it showing up today at 2:30? The biggest colperates residing in the family of mailnotontimeleas are the people in the old folks home. One in particular. I'll walk in with three obviously heavy crates of unsorted mail, and this women will be sitting by the mailboxes. "Can I get my mail," she snaps with her shriveled up face. I explain to her that it is not sorted out and it will take me about half an hour. "Well, paul would have my mail for me. He would have it all sorted out and hand it to me. Where is paul? Why isn't he working any more? What happened to him? He was so friendly..." Blah, BLah, Blah. I turn and open the boxes and begin filling them with mail. I am beggining to understand where the term going postal comes from.

The people in the post office are fine. The people out on the streets can be some thing of a different sort. Bring them good news, or just their mail and they love you. Bring them bad news or just their mail, and they verbally lash you.