Those Dead-Mouse Smellers Make Newman Look Like the President of Mensa

It is no secret that Val has problems with her mail delivery. Though she suspects her correspondence and parcels have been taken out of her mailbox by ne'er-do-wells on occasion, Occam's Razor says her mailman is a jackhole.

I'm not referring to Tuesday, when our mail held more water than a Bounty paper towel, and was hosting a guest from our neighbor's mailbox next door. Nor Wednesday, when The Pony opened EmBee to find the contents of Old Mother Hubbard's cupboard. Not even Thursday, when every item disgorged by EmBee had a wet spot and mud on it. Nope. I'm talking about today. When we drove up to Mailbox Row and saw THIS:

Yuh huh. That's right. Our mail, sitting ON TOP of the mailbox condo. Not an orange card saying it was too big to fit in EmBee. Not a special key to one of the FOUR package boxes five feet away.

What's up with THAT? Good thing there was no rain between the time he left that parcel, and the time we arrived at EmBee. Because the contents would have been ruined. More on the mystery package tomorrow. My business today is with the USPS.

I have half a mind (you don't need to act so impressed) to go down to the dead-mouse-smelling post office tomorrow and show them the picture of this handiwork. The dude may as well have put a sign on that package that said, "Take me!" A parcel ain't safe on a rural road traveled by Backroadsers.

I doubt that I will get any satisfaction from complaining. Other than the intrinsic satisfaction I ALWAYS get from complaining. In fact, I fear that Genius is suffering from my complaining. He cannot get his mail delivered to his college rental house. All was well until a couple of months ago. The fellows and he had been receiving their mail like clockwork. But shortly before Genius left on his California trip, his mail lady got all testy (heh, heh, I said TESTY!) with the lads.

Some construction was being done on the road of their cul-de-sac, and Mail Lady told them they needed to move their mailbox. They explained that they could not. That the road crew made it impossible. And that they already have to reach it over a 3-foot trench, so there's nowhere for it to go. Genius says Mail Lady simply does not want to get out of her vehicle. Anyhoo, after two weeks of no mail, and the bills coming due, he went to the post office to complain. And the clerk said, "Oh, there's whole pile of your mail here behind the counter. Do you want it? Do you know why she isn't delivering it?"

I think the USPS has many tentacles. That there's a kind of underground "permanent record" system, like Elaine's patient file, where all medical staff could see that she was "difficult." And since Genius has Thevictorian name, and gets some of his mail here, the USPS is being contrary with him because they are out to get Val. Yeah. That's a little far-fetched. More than likely they are simply simpletons on a power trip.

The Pony asked me if I was going to complain about the wet muddy mail. I told him no.

"Because we won't really know what the substance is that made the wetness on Thursday. But it could be worse than Tuesday's rain."