On my way to town Monday, I encountered a mail truck coming toward me on our private gravel road. The white JEEP kind of mail truck. He stopped at the top of the curvy hill as I was coming up.
I was unsure if he wanted to talk to me. They sit on the opposite side, you know. Anyhoo, why was an actual mail truck out here on our private gravel road? They're for town deliveries. Our mail people drive small SUVs, or sedans. The latest one being a compact maroon sedan, with a woman driver. So who was this usurper, who I later discovered to be male? Did he buy an old mail truck? Was he a wanna-be Buffalo Bill, targeting large women for their coveted epidermises? Epidermi?
I couldn't see inside the mail truck. It stopped. Started. Made no sound or sign that the driver wanted a conversation. I thought it was just letting T-Hoe come up the curvy hill, which is hard for two vehicles to pass. So I went on. Giving it a side-eye. Side-head, actually. I turned to look, but couldn't see inside due to the reflection of the window. I proceeded to Mailbox Row, parked, and walked across the blacktop county road to get my mail out of EmBee.
As I was perusing my junk mail, back in T-Hoe's leather seat, the mail truck pulled up beside me. Then backed up. I put down my window. The driver was a kid! Closer to the age of The Pony (21) than Genius (24). At least to my old-lady eyes. He was quite polite.
"I don't suppose you're Pam John?" Not the actual name, but it's a gal name and a dude name.
"No. I know who that is. It's our lawyer. Our lawyer's WIFE. They live way up in here, but I'm not sure where."
"Okay. So I guess I should leave her package down here?"
"Yes. I would think so."
"I'm not supposed to deliver more than a half mile from the mailbox."
We have never, n-e-v-ER, had the post office deliver a package to our door. I guess he had driven a half mile, didn't see the address, then turned around to go back. Now he pulled across the blacktop road to park by the mailboxes. Got out. Took the box out of the back of his mail truck, and set it under Mailbox Row.
IT WAS THE SIZE OF R2D2!
Seriously? What in the NOT-HEAVEN!
"You're not going to leave that there, are you?"
"Yeah. It won't fit in the boxes."
"Can't you leave a notice? For them to pick it up at the post office?"
"It's not supposed to rain."
"Somebody will STEAL that package! We've had mail stolen several times!"
"Oh. I guess I could leave a note."
Mail Boy put the package back in the mail truck. I really hope he left it in there, and got out one of those orange post card thingies.
Let the record show that I had momentarily entertained the thought of volunteering to take that package, and give it to Pam John. But then it would be weighing heavily on my mind, until Hick came home, and decided he had time to drive it up there. Besides, I'm not an employee of the U.S. Postal Service! Surely there is a policy about handing over a package to a person who is NOT the addressee! After all, I've been asked for ID when I take my orange post card to the post office to pick up my own package.
I called Hick after that interaction, and he said,
"You didn't take it? To give to her?"
Way to go, Hick. Way to throw cold water on my HEROISM! Why not rip the medal from my neck, chew off my buffed nails, and deflate my chest? How dare you make me feel guilty, after I've saved the wife of the bad-hay-baling lawyer from a careless act of uncommon sense!
I think the USPS needs to update their merit test to include a question about a situation such as this.
Here's the road:
Years ago, before the lock boxes were installed, the mailman left one of our packages on top of Mailbox Row, just above our mailbox. It was small, but wouldn't fit inside, I guess. At least that's the story we got when I tried to track down the whereabouts of the package. Which contained a tube of acne medicine for adolescent Genius, ordered from Amazon.
I suppose that was ironic for the thief, who was a blemish on society.
Well. I think you're a hero for educating that young newbie mail deliver-er about rural criminal folkways.
ReplyDeleteThank you. I graciously accept your accolades.
DeletePut that medal on and wear it proudly! I get all the mail for the entire park and have to sort it and then HeWho holds the key puts it in the proper boxes. He used to sort, but he screwed that up too many times! One of our tenants got a package in a large envelope that did not fit in their box. If you picked the package up, you could definitely tell what it was. The content description was on the envelope, as well. Let me just say that this "12 inch purple toy" should have been packaged in a box and not labeled as to what it was! I did enjoy watching that tenant turn very red when they picked the package up. I wanted to open it and then say, "I am so sorry, I opened your package by mistake!!" HeWho forbade me to do so. The man has no sense of humor!
ReplyDeleteHeh, heh! I WISH you'd pretended to open it by mistake! Or said it was delivered that way, in a damaged envelope.
DeleteWell done. Now I need to know what was in the package...A giant tube of acne medicine maybe?
ReplyDeleteI don't know. I haven't heard about it. Hick has been remiss in his gossip. They have four kids, so that's a possibility!
DeleteIf I was already going in the direction, I would have taken the package to Pam John, or at the very least watched to make sure the mailboy left the orange card in her mailbox to let her know a package was waiting at the post office. are those mailboxes just open slots? Or do they have little plastic doors to see through? It's hard to tell. Each one looks like it is holding a folded over lunch sack.
ReplyDeleteI was going the OPPOSITE direction, so that package would have been riding around town with me. I don't know where they live, but Hick says it's the house before the headless-body-in-a-septic-tank house. About a half mile past ours.
DeleteI didn't know if that big box was heavy, either. The Mail Boy was a young, strong whippersnapper.
The mailboxes each have their own metal door, which is not see-through. The ne'er-do-wells who drive around bashing mailboxes with baseball bats do not like our wooden shelf, and use the end of the bat to jab the doors, which sometimes bend and have to be hammered back into shape. When we open up the door to get the mail, we see the little orange card inside with the envelopes.
You deserve a medal and shame on Hick for deflating your heroism.
ReplyDeleteThank you. Hick can be a hero in his own way. I would never tell him how to hero. He knows where the house is, and he can lift a big box easier than I.
DeleteIn retrospect, I could have eschewed the heroism, and driven that package around with me, then asked for a delivery fee comparable to the lawyer's hourly fees... Nah! I don't need that karma.