THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Friday, February 10, 1995 TAG: 9502090012
SECTION: FRONT PAGE: A12 EDITION: FINAL
TYPE: Opinion
SOURCE: By HELEN A. STUART
LENGTH: Medium: 56 lines
It starts at 4:30 a.m. in Norfolk. I come in at 5:30 a.m. just to see how much mail has accumulated since the previous night. As usual on Mondays, the mail is stacked high. So to the crew room I go to read about us ``lazy mail carriers,'' the jokes about the dogs and, of course, the recent stamp hike.
Customers on my route ask why. I tell them that we are a nonprofit organization and are constantly in the hole. And now with automation kicking in, we'll probably need more mail carriers to handle the load; unless someone invents shoes that walk by themselves, 'cause I won't have any feet left to do the walking.
The time clock strikes 6 a.m.; we start putting up the mail. I really like the letters that have only a name and no address; the ones that give me just an address at an intersection; the ones that say this person lives next to this store and that store and across from that family.
A minibreak is called by the supervisor and I have just enough time to go to the restroom and prepare for the second dispatch. Oops, this package looks funny. I take it to the supervisor who returns it to the main office. We don't want any customers to get hurt. I take the extra time to make sure the package gets there even if it means no lunch, no breaks and definitely lots of overtime.
I'm finally out of the office on my way to my route. Winter is the best time of year - the busy traffic keeps me from getting to the businesses on time.
Mud all over the place. It's pouring down rain and, oh, no! the letters are a little wet and dirty.
Here comes that dog again, the post office and I have attempted numerous times to contact the owner to make sure his animal is on a leash. Well, I'll try to deliver. He's after me! I must look real silly sloshing around heading for my truck in fear. This street won't receive any mail today, but the complaints will be in.
Ah, I love this street. I can't go across that lawn, must make sure I remember who is on vacation, who wants the packages placed where, and, of course, the jagged mailboxes that tear up my fingers already bleeding from scratches that have yet to heal. It wouldn't be so bad, it's all part of my job, and, of course, I get paid pretty good for it.
But I've had five colds in the past year, my back is killing me and I've worn down my shoes three times this year. I suffer from wind burn on my legs - the wind goes through the slacks - and I'm insect bitten in the summer. But I'm one of the lucky ones who actually receives a thank-you now and then.
The next time you don't want to get out of bed because of the freezing rain or you think you'll melt away because it's stinking hot, remember your mail is being delivered today. MEMO: Ms. Stuart lives in Virginia Beach. by CNB