People say that Disney gives young girls unrealistic expectations of men, leaving everybody waiting around for their Prince Charming when in reality the world is full of Average Joes. Well, sorry Disney, but that’s nothing compared to the false impressions Postman Pat gives innocent youngsters of postal workers.
It seems like a simple enough job to me. Here’s a bunch of letters, deliver them to the appropriate residence. Once in a while there’s a parcel to liven things up a bit, keep it fresh and all that. Sounds like a blast. Way better than working in Dronfield Delivery Office: Where Post Goes to Die at any rate.
Now, I can assume partial blame for what happens next because my house has the audacity to have one of those post box contraptions at the back door (the entrance we use), rather than a simple letter slot at the front (the entrance blocked by a table on the inside).
Anyway, so it’s been a few days and nobody at my household has received any letters, which is unheard of. There’s always some bill or bank statement or offer of life insurance for the over 50s (that one was addressed to me, cheers Sun Life Direct). Another day; nothing.
My mum and dad get home today and, get this: whichever idle chump delivers our mail has been thinking ‘you know what, the extra twelve steps to get to the post box is way too much, I’ll just leave your post here.’ ‘Here’ being on our front door step.
I don’t know if any of you have noticed, but the weather of late seems like the world is trying to kill itself. Our poor letters have been left, completely unprotected, to fend for themselves against the maniacal elements. It’s a bloody wonder they’ve not all been blown away! Instead, my Pops discovers them all soggy and shrivelled up and very much in need of a little TLC.
Well, what’s the big deal, right? It’s just a few letters that got left outside by accident. Fair enough. What happens when one of those letters is a P60 and another is a credit-card statement? Because that’s exactly what our ditzy postman left out on the open streets of Dronfield, as carelessly as Cinderella abandoned her glass slipper at the ball. Just imagine what chaos could have ensued if the ugly step-sisters stumbled across it! There’s a lot of important information on these documents; I could’ve been bankrolling them onto the next flight to Maga and they’d be free to commit any number of felonies under my name!
I can live without Prince Charming. I can even cope without a Fairy Godmother. But please, please, can I just have someone as reliable as Pat deliver my post?
– Contributing Author, Anonymous.