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Post Office


 The neighborhood postman was retiring after 25 years. On his last day of delivering mail, all of the people on his route left him something in the mail box in honor of his retirement. Some left money, some left small gifts, and some met him at the door and invited him in for a meal. This went on all through the neighborhood. As he proceeded through his route, the gifts got better and better. One house even gave him a gold watch!
  He was so satisfied, but the last house paled in comparison. As he was putting the mail in the mailbox, the door opened, and the woman of the house stood there in beautiful lingerie. She invited him inside. He knew that this woman's husband was a truck driver and was away, so he went inside. She proceeded to give him the day and night of his life.
The next morning he woke up to find she was bringing him breakfast in bed. He found a dollar bill under his plate as he ate and asked her about it. She explained, "When I called my husband to tell ask him what we should give you for your retirement, he said, 'screw him, give him a dollar.'  Breakfast was my idea."

I NEEDED a business-sized envelope but didn't have any in the house. Because I live a distance from a stationery store, I decided to make one from used mail. With some label-peeling and white-out, the result was an envelope that looked like it had come through the Great Depression. To compensate for its appearance, I wrote a small note in the corner saying, "This envelope has been recycled to save a tree." I hoped my uncle and aunt would enjoy the message.  Three weeks later I received an equally small note from a post-office employee. It said, "Your recycled envelope may have saved a tree, but you should see what it did to our computer!"

LUNCH TIME crowds watched a well-dressed young man stride to a mailbox with one hand clutching a bundle of letters and the other holding his lunch - a box of fried chicken. Forehead wrinkled in concentration, the young man carefully posted his chicken dinner, then as the mail chute slammed shut, stared in horror at the letters still clutched in his hand.

A NEW U.S. Postal Service carrier must complete a three month evaluation period before he or she can wear the official uniform. My son-in-law, Joe, having successfully completed the training period, could hardly wait to tell his good news to my daughter, Pat. While she was out walking their basset hound Smoky, Joe put on his new uniform to surprise her when she returned. As Pat and the dog entered the front door, Joe stepped forward with arms outspread and sang out, "Ta Dah!" Pat watched helplessly as Smoky, with a growl normally reserved for strangers, charged forward and bit Joe on the leg.

MY COUSIN'S Jewish grandfather emigrated to Canada in 1882 and became a successful merchant. Eventually he sent one of his sons to manage the store in Portage la Prairie, Man., which was then a sparsely settled farm community west of Winnipeg. Shortly after the son arrived, a letter carrier delivered a postcard to him from his father. The message was written entirely in Hebrew, and the address read simply, "Portage la Prairie, Manitoba." "How did you know it was for me?" the son asked. "Well, I didn't know for sure," the letter carrier admitted. "But I figured the card was either for you or for that Chinese fella down the road."

ONE day Mother sent my little brother to the post office to mail a letter. A few minutes later he came back with a suspicious smile on his face. "What happened?" my mother asked.  "I just fooled the people at the post office. When no one was looking, I dropped the letter into the box without buying any stamp."

I WAS making my daily rounds as a letter carrier when a four-year-old boy ran to his family's mailbox and planted himself squarely in front of it. With his feet spread wide and his arms folded, he told me sternly, "My mom says she just can't take any more bills."

MOVING our family, including five small children, into a new suburban home was quite an experience.  One morning I was unable to find my five-year-old son's school pants among the packing crates, so I finally sent him off in his good pants, with his promise to be careful.  Later, expecting him home from school, I heard a noise on the front stoop.  I was busy feeding the baby, so I called down, "C'mon in, honey, and take your pants off."  There was a clattering on the front porch, and when my son did not come in after a few minutes, I went down to see where he was.  Instead of my five-year-old, I found the mail scattered all over the stoop.

ON MY brother-in-law's first day as a mail carrier, a co-worker complimented him on his tall, muscular physique. But as one short, thin veteran of the department gathered his mail for the day's delivery, the co-worker said loudly, "We were all his size when we first came to work here."

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Last updated May 19, 2008 by Becquet's Custom Programming