Newscoma

Heh.

Remember this postal worker? I had the pleasure of transacting business with her today. And when I say pleasure, I do not mean it.

I walked up to the counter, said hello (pleasantly), and told her I wanted to send my parcel priority mail with $25 insurance. Instead of asking me if I had anything liquid fragile, perishable, or hazardous¹ in the mailer envelope, she said, “What have you got in there that’s worth $25?”

“It’s a photograph.”

“A photograph!?”

I had two trains of thought on this.

A. It’s ART!!! Of course it’s going to be insured, dippy postal person. Do not question this as Jane was giving you money.

My other line of thought was this:

B. My granddad was a rural postal delivery guy. I went on the route with him and he knew every dog’s name on his route and we would whirl through northwest Tennessee’s backroads with a saucy Chocolate Soldier and peanuts in my hands in a 1972 Scout which smelled like Winston cigarettes and ink. In retrospect, I think it was the abundance of ink in the huge canvas bags which held the mail.

His was a beige color if I remember correctly. Later on he had a baby blue Pacer which I ADORED. I loved my grandfather. He wore bright colored leisure suits usually in some shade of yellow and always ate bologna sandwiches for lunch covered with black pepper and mustard when he would get off the route. Yeah, he was one of a kind. The stories I could tell, yet I won’t, as he would haunt me.

Read Hillbilly Please everyday.

That is all.