On my way home from Coolidge Corner, I watched a mailman open a mailbox on Harvard Street. It was one of the relay ones, not the ones you can put mail in. He then sat down on the edge of it, pulled a magazine out of his bag, scooted back, and pulled his feet inside.
I almost stopped to snap a picture on my BlackBerry when all I could see were feet on the sidewalk. It was as if the gray metal box had sprouted a pair of human legs clad in khaki trousers and was getting ready to stand up and walk away. But I didn’t think I could get to my phone fast enough. And I was worried he would see me, and it would get awkward. So I kept walking, resisting the urge to stop and stare.
As I walked away slowly, I tried and failed to form an opinion about this. Not a judgment, just a simple opinion like, that’s interesting or people are strange. Nothing came. My mind was a complete blank.
My rule is this. I strive to never criticize a man for the way he does his job if it’s a job I would never want to do myself. The mailman performs a thankless task six out of seven days a week for 52 weeks a year. In doing that job, he pledges himself to the USPS creed,“Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds.” I have several opinions about this.
1. This is not an easy creed to follow day in and day out.
2. You’ve gotta’ appreciate a man who follows a creed.
3. It mentions nothing about tired feet.
The mailman takes a break on his solitary and repetitive path through the neighborhood by tucking himself away in a confined space away from prying eyes. That’s okay with me.
Visualizing Shakespeare 