I was a postman back in the mid-eighties, and it's a horrible job. True, there are times when it's relatively easy, but those times are few and think of all the crap you have to put up with...
1. Being blamed for delivering the mail late. Often by the same people who will stop you in the street as they're on the way to work and ask you to rummage through the bag to see if there's anything for them.
2. Getting rained on. All the time. Then having to answer official complaints from the public because their mail is wet. Also: not being able to put damp, limp letters through their letterbox because the hinge is too strong.
3. When the phone bills arrive on the same day as the electricity bills and gas bills. That means that not only is your postbag twice as heavy as normal, but you have to go to every single house on your route.
4. Getting attacked by kids, dogs, early-morning drunks and junkies. One mad old lady threw a milk bottle at me. Then her family complained when I refused to deliver mail to her house.
5. Having to empty post boxes that have been stuffed with crisp packets, leaves, old copies of the Daily Star and dog poo (note: these last two are in fact two separate items).
6. Illegible addresses, incorrect addresses, houses with no letterbox, people who move and don't tell you, people who pretend to be not in because they know you're delivering a registered letter that has to be signed for (I had one guy who dodged me every day for six weeks... The nature of the letter meant that it couldn't be simply returned or put through the letterbox: it had to be placed in his hand. In the end, I hid behind his hedge for fifteen minutes until he left the house and then ambushed him. And received another official complaint for my trouble.)
And there were problems within the postal service too, like the guy who always went sick on the day the Reader's Digests were due to be delivered. Ever tried to walk ten miles carrying fifty copies of the Reader's Digest?
And the guy who transcribed the telegrams over the phone who had the worst handwriting in the world. All his 4s looked like 9s, his 3s looked like 5s and his 1s looked like 7s. I lived in fear of the day when a telegram came in for someone who lived in number 145. Still, at least if we couldn't find the right address the guy would often give us the addressee's phone number...
Then there was the guy who got me into a lot of trouble after I covered his route during his two-week holiday... The first complaints were from people upset that I was delivering the mail so late. I had no idea what they were talking about until one of them confronted me:
"The other postman is here before nine o'clock in the morning! It's two in the afternoon now!"
To which I replied, "Well, yeah. I was here before nine. This is the afternoon delivery."
A pause. "What do you mean, 'afternoon delivery'? When did we start getting two deliveries a day?"
"There's always been two deliveries a day."
"That's a lie! The other postman told me that the second delivery had been abolished years ago!"
Uh oh...
Leaving the post office was the best thing I ever did. I've got a lot of sympathy for posties!
-- Mike
1. Being blamed for delivering the mail late. Often by the same people who will stop you in the street as they're on the way to work and ask you to rummage through the bag to see if there's anything for them.
2. Getting rained on. All the time. Then having to answer official complaints from the public because their mail is wet. Also: not being able to put damp, limp letters through their letterbox because the hinge is too strong.
3. When the phone bills arrive on the same day as the electricity bills and gas bills. That means that not only is your postbag twice as heavy as normal, but you have to go to every single house on your route.
4. Getting attacked by kids, dogs, early-morning drunks and junkies. One mad old lady threw a milk bottle at me. Then her family complained when I refused to deliver mail to her house.
5. Having to empty post boxes that have been stuffed with crisp packets, leaves, old copies of the Daily Star and dog poo (note: these last two are in fact two separate items).
6. Illegible addresses, incorrect addresses, houses with no letterbox, people who move and don't tell you, people who pretend to be not in because they know you're delivering a registered letter that has to be signed for (I had one guy who dodged me every day for six weeks... The nature of the letter meant that it couldn't be simply returned or put through the letterbox: it had to be placed in his hand. In the end, I hid behind his hedge for fifteen minutes until he left the house and then ambushed him. And received another official complaint for my trouble.)
And there were problems within the postal service too, like the guy who always went sick on the day the Reader's Digests were due to be delivered. Ever tried to walk ten miles carrying fifty copies of the Reader's Digest?
And the guy who transcribed the telegrams over the phone who had the worst handwriting in the world. All his 4s looked like 9s, his 3s looked like 5s and his 1s looked like 7s. I lived in fear of the day when a telegram came in for someone who lived in number 145. Still, at least if we couldn't find the right address the guy would often give us the addressee's phone number...
Then there was the guy who got me into a lot of trouble after I covered his route during his two-week holiday... The first complaints were from people upset that I was delivering the mail so late. I had no idea what they were talking about until one of them confronted me:
"The other postman is here before nine o'clock in the morning! It's two in the afternoon now!"
To which I replied, "Well, yeah. I was here before nine. This is the afternoon delivery."
A pause. "What do you mean, 'afternoon delivery'? When did we start getting two deliveries a day?"
"There's always been two deliveries a day."
"That's a lie! The other postman told me that the second delivery had been abolished years ago!"
Uh oh...
Leaving the post office was the best thing I ever did. I've got a lot of sympathy for posties!
-- Mike