Postman

I saw a job posting in the classifieds the other day for mail delivery. Starts out at twenty bucks an hour. I can't imagine making that much money. I did let my mind wander and day dream about what life would be like as a mail carrier. I pictured the wonderful life of a mailman. They walk around suburbia with safari hats on, shielding the sun from their eyes. Wearing short with blue socks. Having fabulous tans. Getting to know the neighborhood. Saying hello to Granny Mcfarron, rocking in her front porch chair. Maybe even being invited in for lemonade, sipping from a straw as mothers read letters from their loved ones serving bravely in Iraq. Sunshine, sprinklers, morning dew, bird songs, beautiful old style cursive writing on pulpy envelopes sealed with heart stickers. Oh how I would love to be a mailman.

Hold on. What am I thinking. Mailmen don't deliver mail anymore. People don't write letters these days. Do they? All the mail I get is electronic mail. My mail woman, Penny, is a sweet lady, but I don't look forward to her appearance on my front porch. She hasn't delivered anything but coupon books, credit applications, and bills to my house. Same goes for the neighbors. The poor mail people. Their job used to bring joy to the common folk, now only annoyance. The mail comes; I come home. It is the same routine everyday. Take the mail out of the box and deposit it in the recycling bin. Mailmen are nothing but litterers. I am going to change this by writing more hand written letters. You should do the same.