(A Mailman snickers somewhere)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Given the continued success of Kindle sales, I thought I would go ahead and drop the price down to $2.99.  That’s a steal.  Tell your friends to buy a copy!

Oh, and while I’ve got your attention, this website will soon be www.walkingwiththemailman.wordpress.com.

Thanks everyone!

I was casing up the mail on City Route 3, when Mark, a mailman with thirty plus years of service, poked his head around the corner.  We had already been talking about the past, swapping stories and what not, so he jumped right in.

“Hey, did I tell you about Jim Morgan?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

He grinned.  “Yeah, good old Jim retired just before I started.  He used to cover North Street.  Well, anyway, Mike’s Tavern was on his route, so he swung by as usual to drop off the mail.  Come to find out, there was this old friend of his in there downing some drinks.  Naturally Jim sat down and before long they were laughing and carrying on.  Jim had a drink…  And then another drink…  Then another…  Next thing he knew, he was lit up.  Like really drunk.  And he’s thinking, ‘Oh, crap [this wasn’t the word used], I gotta finish my rounds.’  So out he goes, stumbling all over the place, trying to get the job done.”

“Are you serious?” I interrupted.

“I’m dead serious.”

“You’re telling me,” I began with an incredulous look, “that he got drunk while on the job?”

“He did.”

I shook my head. 

Mark continued, “Sometime later, he starts gettin’ real sleepy and decides it’s time to sit down under a tree.  And before long, he’s sound asleep- completely passed out, just lying there in the grass.”

“He passed out?”

Mark nodded.  “It gets better.  Some neighbor sees him asleep under the tree and calls the post office.  So, naturally, here comes the supervisor to see what’s going on.  But when he tries to wake him up, Jim’s all confused and starts swinging at old Freeman- thinks he wants to fight or something.  The supervisor tries to get him under control, but Jim just keeps flailing around.”

I started to laugh. 

“Now here’s the funny thing,” Mark quickly added. “Apparently some other neighbor looks out the window and sees Jim fighting off Freeman, swinging like a wild man, and yelling too.  They think the mailman’s being attacked, fighting for his life or something, so they call the cops!”

“Ha!  The cops?” I asked, shaking my head in disbelief.  “What happened?” 

“Well, it all got sorted out and Freeman sent Jim home to sleep it off.”

“Did they fire him?”

“Nope.”

“What!?!  They didn’t fire him?”

“Oh, no.  They gave him a one week suspension.”

“Is that all?  How in the world did he pull that off?”

“Things were different back then, Austin.  A lot different.”

“Yeah, I’d say so.”

In case you missed this, uh, interesting little news piece, read below.

From the Huffington Post (Link)

NAKED MAILMAN: Wisconsin Postal Worker Delivers Mail In The Buff

A postal worker in the small town of Whitefish Bay, Wisconsin, eight miles north of Milwaukee, was arrested at the North Shore Post Office last Thursday for wearing an unsanctioned uniform while making his rounds. That is, no uniform at all.

The 52-year-old man allegedly walked into an office building to deliver mail wearing only a smile. According to Whitefish Bay Now, which cites a town police report, the man has since admitted to the nude delivery, saying “he was sorry and it was a stupid thing to do.”

The Associated Press reports that the postman was hoping to cheer up a woman working at the office, who he said seemed stressed. The AP also says the woman “dared him to do it,” but Whitefish Bay Now says the woman has denied encouraging the delivery of any sort of special package. Still, she says she doesn’t believe he intended any harm.

The postman was arrested for “lewd and lascivious behavior,” a Class A misdemeanor in Wisconsin.

Yup, that’s right.  If you own a Kindle, or if you’re looking to pick one up for Christmas, Walking with the Mailman is now only $4.99!  Five bucks!  I mean, that’s like the cost of a Big Mac meal… or, not even two gallons of gas… or, shoot, one of those musical Christmas cards will cost you a Lincoln. 

So what are you waiting for?  Download it!

Click here.

If a letter carrier is ever captured and the government needs to get him to talk, forget waterboarding, forget Guantanamo Bay, forget sleep deprivation, all they need to do is play this song once (and not even loud), and all will be disclosed…

Now that’s some serious parcels!  And I just love how the dude in the middle is dwarfed by his pile.  My guess is that he just received a pep talk from his supervisor:  “Now come on, man, that won’t take you any longer.  In fact, I’ve got you 20 minutes under!  Put some back into it, you weenie!”

Some people like to post signs on their door. 

I’ll run across signs that read “No solicitors, please.”  Or maybe a frustrated mom will tape up a note that says, “Please take your shoes off at the door.”  I might even come across a piece of paper instructing me where to put a parcel. 

These make good sense.    

But every now and then, while making my rounds, I’ll stumble across a sign that causes me to blurt out, “What the?!?”

Take Mr. Hilderman’s front door.  Do you remember the movie Momento?  Well, in a similarly strange kind of way, Mr. Hilderman likes to tattoo notes, declarations, threats, and just about anything and everything else one can imagine on his front door.  Not sure why.  But he does.  And as you can tell in the picture, he’s particularly opposed to people dropping the F-Bomb in his house.

Oh, and let me tell ya, I’d make sure and honor the request. 

Then there’s Mrs. Shelby, an older woman with an affinity for flowered dresses who has the following prohibitions scrawled across a large piece of cardboard.  It is positioned prominently near her front door.  It reads:

No Shoes
No Cussing
No Weapons
No Drugs

LOL. 

I wonder if it helps?

So, yeah, we’re moving this weekend, and there’s some awful carpet in our new house that needs ripped out.  Let’s just say that it doesn’t smell very good…  I’m hoping that I don’t contract some kind of strange flesh eating disease in the process.  My wife picked me up a handy-dandy, Home Depot face mask, so I’m feeling mildly optimistic.  But then again, there are like three trillion tack strips that need pried up, so I’ll probably suffer multiple wounds to the hand, thereby providing the nasties direct access to my blood stream. 

So anyway, I’m going to be busy for a few days. 

In the meantime, don’t forget to pick up a copy of Walking with the Mailman, if you haven’t already. 

Wish me luck.  I’m going in!

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