Friday, November 1, 2013

Neither Snow Nor Rain Nor Heat Nor Slightest Semblance Of Reason Stays These Couriers From The Eventual Completion Of Their Appointed Rounds

There are a lot of fascinating people living in this world. There’s Bill Gates, he seems pretty neat. There’s so many fascinating people that both Barbara Walters and People magazine publish new lists of them every year. These lists usually feeature new people so one would asssume that every new person on the list has just been born in the past year. It’s usually not. The royal baby might make the list this year, but who gives a shit. One who’s never made the list is my mailman. I can’t imagine why though, because he truly is an enigma. I’d say that he’s at least 678% more fascinating than the President. And that’s a conservative estimate

I get mail that’s not for me sometimes. It has my address so I don’t think he’s an idiot for giving me the wrong mail. I don’t want to keep poor Elba’s mail. It’s a little weird that she’s still getting all sorts of stuff sent here. It has been three years and I guess she really doesn’t deserve her mail if she hasn’t figured out how to fill out a change of address form by now. I guess she could also be dead. If that’s the case I’m sorry for your loss Fernandez family. You have my deepest sympathies, and if there’s anything I can do in this troubling time please let me know.

Fifth time's a charm
That’s not bad and it’s not all that fascinating. What is fascinating is what happens next. Like a good person who’s not named Elba Fernandez I always return the mail. I cross out the address and write something that tries to convey the point that I want this mail returned to the sender. I usually go with “return to sender”. I will then walk it to the mailbox across the street. I don’t put it back in my mail box, I walk it across the street to the big blue collection box. Invariabley the next day, sometimes that very same day my mailman will bring it back and deliver it to me. This has happened up to five times a piece of mail. The timeframe is short enough where I'm pretty sure it's not going back to the main post office for processing and redelivery. The mail collection box is right across the street. I'll put it in in the morning. The collection time is listed as noon. And by 1:00 Elba is back in my box.
For Christ's sake return this fucking thing to sender you weirdo

The thought process that goes into that is the most fascinating thing I can think of. He finds a letter marked return to sender. He then thinks to himself “hmmm, who was the last person to send this? Why the person who just put it in the mailbox an hour ago. I better get it back to him.” For me to want those letters back he would have to assume that the Macy’s collection department is located in an apartment in Washington Heights, but the people who live there are completely unaware that they also share an apartment with them. Or he assumes that I put it in the mailbox, realized I wanted it back, grabbed a pen, and then reached my arm in and wrote on it instead of grabbing it. I can’t wait until next time just to see how many times he actually walks back and forth with the letter before the nose bleeds of frustration force him to make a decision as to where it belongs.

Either way Barbara Walters’ shitty list has got nothing on him.

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