This piece was written for the weekly photo prompt from the Unicorn Challenge. I’m a former postman myself so of course I’m not being serious. But then again, I would say that, wouldn’t I?
‘Well, I see three problems for starters.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You told them it was fragile. Everyone knows the Post Office is a sheltered workshop for sociopaths. Red rag to those bullies.’
‘What else?’
‘You told them there was an enclosure. Everyone knows the Post Office is a sheltered workshop for animal rights activists and you tell them that inside there’s something that could be used to enclose some poor creature and they’re not having any of that, are they?’
‘You said there were three.’
‘You put the return address on it so they could send it back and imagine your face when you saw their handiwork. Everyone knows the Post Office is a sheltered workshop for sadists.’
‘Damn. I didn’t want it to arrive broken. What should I have done?’
‘Simple. You can buy stickers that say ‘JUST ANOTHER PIECE OF UNSOLICITED CRAP WE’RE SENDING TO EVERYONE ON THE MAILING LIST WE BOUGHT ON THE DARK WEB. IT DOESN’T REALLY MATTER IF IT NEVER GETS DELIVERED BECAUSE IT’S GOING STRAIGHT INTO THE RECYCLING BIN ANYWAY STRAIGHT AFTER IT’S BEEN RETRIEVED FROM SOMEONE’S LETTER BOX.’ Everyone knows the Post Office is a sheltered workshop for nihilists.’
‘You’re so cynical. I’m sure there are some wonderful people who work at the Post Office and they do their best to deliver …..’
‘Oh, please, spare the me the ‘through rain, hail, sleet or snow’ speech. Anyway, got to be off or I’ll be late for work. New job. Local Post Office.’
Six Crooked Highways 
What kept you? You can’t go on using the ‘just moved house’ excuse for ever, man!
But this was very funny, and also too true to be funny.
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Ah but now I’ve moved into the ‘with just a few tweeks this house will be perfect’ stage. 🙂
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That should buy you another year or ten!
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🙂
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“Everyone knows the Post Office is a sheltered workshop for nihilists.’…”
Fun story*
* I gots to learn to do that!**
** in particular, the ‘progression effects’ so expertly demonstrated in your contribution this week.
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In France it used to be called Poste, Télgraphe Téléphone or PTT for short, known to the locals as ‘Petit Travail Tranquille’.
Thank you for my weekly smile from Six Crooked Highways: good fun, well written and with that ubiquitous grain of truth.
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You’re welcome, Jenne. Decades ago the relevant Department here was the Post Master General’s office, or PMG, which was known by children as Pig’s Meat and Gravy.
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This would be even funnier if it didn’t hit so close to home.
I have major issues with our post office. Dreadful service!
I’ve written a couple of stories about those sociopaths.
They are derelict dinglesacks of dubious distinction!
Great writing, Doug! Funny stuff!
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Thanks, Nancy. Love your alliterative description of your local postal service. I’ve added dinglesack to my lexicon. Jenne and CE would tell you that a common derogatory term for the bagpipes is doodlesack. 😉
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Fabulous! And I just found out what a todger is.
My vocabulary is growing at an incredible rate today!
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The snail mail, don’t get me started!
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I’ll never again be able to look at my postman without wondering – who is he really? And there was I thinking he was a kind-hearted, long-suffering soul, playing his part in strengthening the ties of communication throughout the world. With a cheery smile and a wave. So, well done in undermining my faith in one of my longstanding heroes. 😉
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As a former postie myself, I know they bear the brunt of the idiocy of those further up the food chain and we value our local postperson (a woman, as you may have gathered) greater than gold. 🙂
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Good yarn Doug. Sorry, late to the game this week. Been a postie myself too. A great job, getting paid to exercise and get a tan in the summer and exercise and keep nice and warm in winter. The only downsides were threefold; an overprotective bit off a Corgi (of COURSE a Corgi) a bloody big Great Down that looked DOWN on me as I went to deliver a regis-turd letter to some hoity toity lawyers front door and a lovely sweet looking Labrador (but, sadly, lead-poisoned) that waddled up to me and sunk its smiling muzzle deep into my fat-free calf.
Ah well, the scars fade. As you say over there, ‘good times but.’
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Thanks, Obb. Fortunately no actual bites out of me but if barks could kill …
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As if torn from the headlines.
Yep, that’s the way of it!
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