Conversation at the Thanksgiving Dinner table turned to how lucky The Pony is.
"I'm so glad you have your little house, so you're not wasting money on rent. Now it will be yours. And it's so close to work, you hardly spend any money on gas. No commute to waste time. Your job is secure, unless you start stealing mail! And you have insurance and retirement benefits. Plus, you're pretty much on your own. You don't have to deal with anyone. Just go in and get your stuff done. You can listen to music or podcasts while you're on a walking route. And if anybody wants to complain, they're probably not going to tell you to your face. They'll call the office!"
"I know. And when people want to talk to me, I have an easy way out. I just say, 'I really have to get back to delivering. I'm on a schedule.' So that ends it. But yeah, they don't complain to me. Just talk. Old ladies, mainly."
"You might be the high point of their day. Waiting for the mail to see if they get anything. And the added bonus of somebody to talk to."
"There's one old lady who must have had knee surgery, or hurt herself. She was on one of those scooter things."
"That's not a knee. More like an achilles tendon, or ankle injury."
"Anyway, her mailbox is by the road. Down a hill! So I've been carrying it to her, and she thanks me. She said next time she makes cookies, she'll put some in the mailbox for me."
"That's a sweet thing to do."
"There's another old lady who must have the fattest dog I've ever seen in my life. Next to Sparky, your Favorite Gambling Aunt's dog. This one's a chihuahua. She's always waiting by her door. I take the mail to her, too. I try to help, but I can't take too much time."
If I didn't know better, I might think The Pony is developing a slight case of caring about people.