Tuesday, October 7, 2008

"Everybody makes fun of the mailman..."

Dear Mr. Mailman,

If you and I could just come to some sort of an accord, this wouldn't happen. I know how exasperated you must feel when you have to leave the key to the parcel box and transfer all my mail there and wait for me to get it. Or worse, when you get really, really angry and just pile it all on my front doorstep.

I want you to know there once was a time I loved the mail.

Like the time on my mission when I had two companions and we each had a key. One of us had the "key to the light" (our car was named 'Luz' which means light in Spanish), one of us had the "key to the kingdom" (our apartment) and one of us - that would be me - had the "key to the word". That's right! I had the key to the portal to letters from home!

Oh! And in my last job, I loved helping the receptionist sort the mail. It didn't matter that I was the office manager. I would go up nearly every day, grab the big, white U.S. Mail basket and start sorting the mail. And then, when I finished sorting it, I would arrange it all by size.

Sick. I know. But I. loved. mail!

Then I grew up and bought a house.

Now, I hate mail. What, with all the coupon circulations, and the ads, and the credit card offers and the papers, the papers, the papers!

I know you're just doing your job, but honestly. . . if you could just find a way to sort out all the junk mail and just leave me the bills, I think I could find a way to get to the mailbox more often. Because what happens now is this: I wait for, like, ever to get the mail (unless I KNOW I have a Very Important Package coming) and you keep putting it in there. Every. day. Everyday with the delivering and the putting. Well, fine. Not Sundays. But still.

Then, eventually, I get around to picking it up. After saying a silent prayer I won't find an empty mailbox because I've ticked you off again and my mail is laying all open and exposed on the front doorstep that I never even see because I go through the garage. . . (whew!)

Then I sort the stupid mail. Into two categories: Important-Enough-to-Keep and Trash. And then, I split the Important-Enough-to-Keep pile into two more piles: Must-Open-Because-It's-a-Bill and Must-Tear-into-Little-Bloody-Pieces-Because-It's-an-Ad- with-My-Personal-Information-on-It.

I open the Must Open stuff. Because, you know, it's mostly bills. Then I leave the other crap - the most annoying, bane of my existence, notworththepaperit'sprintedon crap - in it's sad but mounting pile on my counter, where it sits and sits and sits for a very long time and where I hope it will eventually cave to the environmental powers of destruction and start to decompose. Then I think to myself that if all else fails, maybe I can speed up the process by adding it to the compost pile my husband keeps talking about building. (Though I don't think he'd let me because it's supposed to be "organic" compost. . . ) Whatever. Until then, there it sits.

So. If you could just do me this one, teensy favor? Keep the crap! Have a bonfire with it! Make paper mache! Use it for kitty litter! I. Don't. Care!

And I, in return, vow to check my mail a leeetle more often. Heck, maybe I'll even LOVE mail again someday!

[Title quote is from "Snow Day"]


Danielle said...


Kimberly said...

Oh my...I feel sorry for both of you!

Jen said...

you summed it up perfectly!! I hate hate hate hate the junk mail!!!

Trina said...

lol! i saw the mail lady as i was getting mail last thursday and i did seriously consider askin her if she could not put the junk in my box specifically and then figured that would be impossible for her to remember and then just threw every bit away cuz it was very unimportant mail!

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