I came biking up to my front door a while ago, just as the postman was turning away from the mailbox, having dropped off the daily ration of catalogues and third-class envelopes. "How're you doin', m'friend?" I asked. "Just fine," he replied, with a cheerful smile as he resumed his rounds.
It was ever thus. I don't know about the rest of the world, but here in Palookaville, mail service is pure Sesame Street. Mailpersons are unfailingly friendly, easygoing, cooperative. For a while we had one who hummed hymns. Which is not to say they're lazy. Granted they don't sprint along at a trot, like UPS men do (or used to--they've slowed down, haven't they)? But I never see one who isn't busy, taking stuff out of his truck, putting stuff into his truck, walking his beat, whatever.
And why not be happy? He's out in the open air. He gets plenty of exercise. For all our fussing, the weather is actually pretty good here. And the customers are always glad to see him.
A good, steady job with benefits. Just like his mother told him. "Go to work for the Post Office," she said, "and you'll be set for life."
Wonder what she is saying now.