the perfect postal employee


I don’t understand what they mean by “going postal”.

I mean, I’m glad that I don’t “get it”….that would be a bad thing.

I guess that some people get pretty upset when they fully realize that they’re just a cog in a big and impersonal machine.

But not me….I thrive on “cogginess”.

I’ve got a little core of individuality that nobody can touch, anyway.

Nobody sees it and nobody touches it.

It’s my secret place.

But this “going postal” thing is bothersome.

I don’t hear about a lot of damage caused by postal employees….but we have a reputation for being tightly wound springs….ready to go off while we’re driving around listening to reggae music.

I don’t think that’s necessarily true.

I might go off over something….but it won’t be about the mail.

“Going Postal”? Pshawwww.

What a bunch of weirdness. Why don’t they say “going ‘meat packing plant’ ” more often? That seems to be where the problem is….not the Post Office.

I was thinking this morning that I’m turning into the perfect Postal employee.

My eyes are getting bad and I’m feeling stiff and my middle looked suspiciously soft when I snuck a glance at myself in the mirror after my last shower.

I’m turning into the perfect mushroom who can stand sitting in a car waving his arms around with pieces of paper in his hands.

I’m perfect for the job.

Now, I may not be the most organized character around….I may not know all the rules…but I care about my customers and do my best to take care of them.

That’s kind of fun to handle things in a way where I don’t get in trouble for doing a bad job.

That’s a good thing.

This physical transformation is wacky to see.

I’m getting older.

Then I started to wonder if that downward slide towards soft and stiff (what’s that? an oxymoron?) was something that could be avoided?

Is that inevitable that we get kind of “old” when we get kind of old?

I know that doing the mail is pretty inactive.

I move around and stuff…but aerobically, delivering the mail is not at the top of the list of fitness encouraging occupations.

I’m a Postal Slug….like all the rest of them.

But is all of these physical changes something that I have no control over?

Is it Father Time who is doing this to me…..or just slugginess?

Can I fight this transformation without “going postal”?

I am going to have to sit at the computer and really spend a lot of time researching exactly how to combat the effects of sitting at a computer or sitting at work and the damage it causes to me….physically.

Or, maybe, I should just sit back on a porch somewhere and sip my ice tea and revel in the exchange of wisdom for my youthful vitality?

Maybe that’s when the real aging takes over? When we accept that we are OLD….and let nature take over and run its course all over us?

All I know for sure is that I’m changing….morphing….evolving like a radiated X-man or something…turning into Postal Slug.

I’m changing….every day.

About Peter Rorvig

I'm a non-practicing artist, a mailman, a husband, a father...not listed in order of importance. I believe that things can always get better....and that things are usually better than we think.

Comments are closed.