Yesterday I was sitting outside in front of my house (on the phone, actually) when the mailman drove up. The box is at the street, but he came up the driveway; there was not one, but three packages, and they wouldn’t all fit in the box. Usually he just kind of stuffs them in there anyway, or puts them on top, or in a plastic bag hanging from the whatever-it’s-called that pinches the little door-thing on the box closed — and once in the winter he drove up the driveway but stopped and instead of getting out just dropped some package out the window onto the ground next to his car and backed right out and drove off — but maybe he saw me outside, or maybe yesterday he just felt like making the little extra effort to bring the stuff to the house.
Anyway, so the mailman drives up, and I walk over to greet him and relieve him of his charges. And it takes him a minute or two to gather all three packages, two of which need to be scanned by some little label-reader he has, and we make some small talk.
“You should try driving on the wrong side of the car some day,” he says, referring to his minivan (which has the steering wheel in the usual place, and presumably something so he can operate the pedals from the passenger side, where he sat while driving). “You have to drive a little crazy, in order to get anywhere.”
August 3, 2004 12:45 PM
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