GOING POSTAL!

After viewing a recent story on a local cable news channel about a U.S. Postal worker that only wears his uniform shorts when making his rounds it made me wonder. It is not so unusual that a postal worker might wear shorts if they work somewhere around the Equator. This guy however worked in the upper Midwest of the U.S. As I remember my geography from Mrs. Miller’s third grade class for the short and geographically challenged, I seem to remember that Minnesota is quite a few degrees north of the world’s belt buckle which as everybody knows is its regular hot spot especially on Saturday night after doing the cha cha with some other hot worldly mamma planet. Of course the day they did the story on the postal worker there was snow on the ground, and it was 20 degrees below zero. He still delivered the mail in his uniform shorts. What a knucklehead….er….character!

Given all of the hoopla and reputation hits that the Post Office has taken in the last two decades is it any wonder that the phrase “going postal” has become a regular part of the vernacular? This former U.S. Governmental Agency which is now a quasi-private company has quite a collection of lunatics within its walls yet its make up is by and large of normal everyday citizens like you and me. They’re the folks who like you and I have no problem playing especially when it comes to making sure the mail goes through….through all kinds of torment before it gets to me. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had mangled letters, crushed packagers and fractured fruitcakes thanks to the mail system. As far as the fruit cake goes they could have incinerated that as far as I am concerned, just as long as they don’t tell crazy Aunt Rita that I never received it. I think she grows every fruit by hand on her windowsill and somehow gelatinizes them to make each tasty morsel the consistency of rubber suitable for retreading tires on a 1957 Buick.

As far at that lunatic comment regarding postal workers, I think I am eminently qualified to comment especially on the changes. My father, brother and cousin all worked in the much maligned organization. What once was glamorized and romanticized by the pony express and a reputation that the mail must go through no matter what, saw the tide begin to change after the 1960’s. It was an especially turbulent time for psychedelic indulgent postal employees. The revamping of stodgy uniforms with the addition of shorts and the pith helmet might have confused some, but if there were ever a contingent of postal workers on the Serengeti of Africa chasing big game at least they would be properly dressed for the hunt.

As someone who spent quite a number of years in an entertainment industry one half of a step above gutter level I can honestly say that we use to joke that if we ever got fired that at lease we could work in the Post Office. How funny that is the case with some postal workers. The organization has become the employer of some of the dregs of society who could not make an honest living based on tangible skills. The souls I am talking about not only use to work in the Post Office but their acts within its inner sanctum earned them the right to have their wanted poster hung in front on public display.

When you are willing to hire the unskilled to perform manual labor that the average marsupials could perform in his sleep and put some of them at the helm of the machine is it any wonder that there might be a banana peel or two to slip upon? The once proud organization has slid into a tri-annual postage raise groveling society that is out to get your money in order for them to compete with more competent less bloated commercial organizations. In the Pony Express days the outlaws use to steal from postal riders. Now some of those very elements are running the show and seem to be within the organization. When my mail from across town comes in three weeks instead of three days, this post modern organization has me doing a double take and thanking my lucky stars that I received anything at all. Of course when I notice that it always seems to be some sort of junk mail or a bill I entertain my own postal eruption in my mind. Then I calm down and think well if I ever get fired I might still end up working there. Then I see the postman coming down my street in his shorts and “World of Commander McBragg” style pit helmet. This sets me to giggle to myself and “whew” a small sigh of relief. It’s enough to make me tell the postman “thanks for the service!”