What the Postman Knows

By Pamela Troeppl

He comes to your house six days a week, leaving you little paper offerings. Perhaps they are bills, occasionally there are checks, but most of the time it seems entire forests have given their lives to print coupons for a dollar off an espresso or to ask if you've seen the person on the other side of the dry cleaners' ad. He knows where you live and he knows things about you that no one else does.

He is your postman, er, postwoman. Or is it postperson?

I caught up with the person who delivers my mail and we had a nice little chat. He said that "mail carrier" would do. Either that or I could call him Dave. Dave the mail carrier.

I wanted to know what he knew about me from my mail.

"I know that you take People," he said with a grin.

Yeah, okay. I confess to a predilection for knowing which megastar has found her tenth soul mate in as many months. It's fascinating that he knew that, but I wanted more.

"I know you used to live down by Greenlake, on Ashworth, right? And your sister lives just a couple of houses away from you."

Hmm. How did he know that I used to live on Ashworth? I've lived here for ten years and somewhere else for six years before that. He hasn't been my postal carrier that long.

My USPS mail carrier Dave confessed that this wasn't the first time he'd been my mail carrier. Since this was news to me, I gave him my famous wide-eyed please-tell-me-you're-not-a-mail-carrying-stalker look that I rarely get an opportunity to use.

He laughed at my look (not what I was going for) and said he had just become the mail carrier for my parents' house about the time I'd moved out.

Whew. He had me worried there for a minute.

But wait. How did he know that was my parents' house? I'd changed my name (to protect the innocent, of course) since I'd lived there. Aha! I had him now. Figuratively speaking, of course.

"So how do you know that my name used to be something other than it is today?" I asked him in my most Perry Mason-like voice.
 

"What's with your voice?" he asked.

"Never mind that, just answer the question," I said.

He scratched his head and looked up towards the roof of his little mail van. "I guess I know that because I've talked to your dad when he's been in the neighborhood before. He remembered me," he stated.

Okay. I bought his answer. I had to. I'd exhausted my repertoire of voice impersonations and strange looks.

I fell back on a tried and true query for mail carriers.

"Ever been bit by a dog?"
 

"I've been nipped, but never really bit."

Darn.

"So, what else do you know about me from the mail you deliver to me?"

Dave the mail carrier pursed his lips and stared out the front window of his mini mail van while he pondered this impressive question.

"You know, I can't think of anything in particular," he said. "But of course now I'm going to be paying more attention because you've asked."

Oh no. Is that a good thing? Having your mail carrier pay more attention to you?

"Do you notice when people get government checks? Unemployment checks?" I queried.

"Oh yeah."

"What else do you know?" I pressed.
 

"I know you wrote a letter to a paper in Colorado," he grinned as he passed me the envelope from the paper in Colorado.
 

"I write for that paper, I'm a columnist. That's my paycheck."
 

"Oh," he said, not impressed at all.

Not that I was attempting to impress him. Much. His un-impressed-ness (is that even a word?) would reach new depths if he actually saw the amount of that paycheck, but I digress.

Mail carrier Dave suggested that we meet for coffee if I wanted to know more about what he knew and more about a postal carrier's life.

Mm hmm. First he knows where I lived ten years ago AND he knows my maiden name. Now he wants to meet for a drink?

I decided to show him that paycheck so he could see I don't get paid enough to learn more details about a mail carrier's life. Not nearly.

Pamela Troeppl is a humor columnist and author. You can read more about her and her work at www.pamela-troeppl.com.

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