There was a knock on the door.
"Come in!" I yelled to whoever was knocking.
A grey, mustachiod man stuck his head inside. "Hello. Is there someone here who owns the grey SUV parked in front?"
"That would be me," I responded.
"Well ... you're parked on the worst part of the street. The mailman won't deliver the mail if you're parked in front of the box. And you can't back up because there's that fire hydrant directly behind ..."
"Why won't the mailman deliver the mail?" I asked him. I knew where this was going.
"Again, you're blocking the box ..."
"I'm not blocking it. He can easily get around it and make his round. I don't have the mailbox surrounded with my car."
"I realize that ... but the carriers don't like to get out of their vehicles to deliver the mail ..."
"Really? Wow. That's kind of spurning their job if they do that. There are parts of my job I don't like doing, but it doesn't mean I avoid it. I mean ... they have to get out of their vehicles at some point - certified mail that needs a signature, oversize packages that won't fit in the box, that sort of thing. And if they do that, I'm positive they'll unseat themselves long enough to put parcels and posts in the box on the occasion they're 'inconvenienced' by the errant obstruction. I'm not worried; I have confidence the owner's mail will get where it needs to get. It's not as if I parked in front of the mailbox with intent or to be vindictive. It was simply a convenient parking spot today."
"Like I said: They don't like to get out of their trucks ..."
"Have you ever heard of the postal service's unofficial motto, from Herodotus' mention of the Persian Empire? 'Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds.' Trust me they can walk around a car ..."
The look on the man's face was one of realization he was dealing with an asshole. The guy was just doing his job. But ... I was right and he knew it.
"Look ... I'll play nice and move my car. And because it's not me who has to live here permanently. I don't want to be the object of someone's slow burn. But, if I did live here, my car would stay right where it is ..."
The man left in a bit of a huff. Through the front door windows, I'm positive I saw him write something in a little notebook he carried ... probably the word "trouble" ... who, some would say, is my middle name ...
.......... Ruprecht ( STOP being a pain in the ass )
*Those stumbling upon this blog posting (admit it - some of you have done just that) may wonder if the above depiction is on the up and up. If you know me, you know it is. Enough said.
