The best job I’ve ever had

My one summer as a mailman.

I was a mailman for one summer back in 1992.

It was the greatest.

I had more interesting experiences in those 3 months than I’ve had with all of my other jobs combined.

Shit, that is sad.

No really, like really sad. Almost sad enough to derail this story.

I’ll push on though.

I was 20 years old that summer and I didn’t have to be at work until 10:00 am each morning.

Chew on that.

Kind of ideal for an annoyingly lazy college student, eh? I didn’t have to sort my mail. I just showed up, jumped in my truck and was on my way.

This wasn’t a drive to each mailbox and deliver situation. I walked the entire route, parking strategically along the way. I knew where I could walk across a lawn and where I couldn’t due to a lawn-loving homeowner.

I still remember how I had to hold the mail for best efficiency. Larger mail cradled in the left arm against my bicep and letters held in the left hand. The right hand is then used to pull from both stacks for each address.

I remember there were a lot of cicadas that summer.

I remember the joys of driving from the passenger seat. Not one accident.

I remember hating on mail slots built into front doors.

I still remember the exact address of the woman who received 5–10 packages each and every day from QVC.

Not to mention the guy who received multiple magazines a week fully covered in brown paper. I so wanted to peak in to read the titles but didn’t want to risk a federal offense.

I wish I could have interviewed them both. No judgment. Just curiosity.

Those were all great memories but the following were by far the top highlights/lowlights from that magical summer of traversing the streets of suburban Glen Rock, New Jersey with a giant satchel of mail hanging over my left shoulder:

Naked guy

I saw all he had to offer as he descended the stairs that sunny morning. This happened on the side of his house since the front door was clearly not welcoming for mail people.

I know this was a part of his master plan.

This was no accident.

If I fulfilled his exhibitionist fantasies, good for me and for him.

I only remember that he had a huge hairy belly.

Rabid raccoon

As I heaved the mail inside the screen door, a voice from behind demanded “Don’t move”. Great, I forgot my pepper spray today.

Do I accept my fate or make a ruckus so the homeowners could potentially save me?

A slow gaze back revealed a uniformed man holding a long pole with a lasso on the end. With deft precision, he lassoed that maniacal raccoon by my feet.

That thrashing raccoon hanging by its neck while it was carried to the truck still haunts me to this day.

I’ll take a clown over a raccoon any day of the week.

Social Security day

They were like zombies.

I could see them in the rear view mirror and there were lots of them.

People demanding their social security checks before I could personally deliver them to their mailbox.

How did I know if they were who they said they were? Is it illegal to give people their mail out of order?

Typically I would drive away from the savages but every once in a while I would get caught offguard and out of fear, would give them whatever they wanted.

A quick puke

A bad hangover and a lot of walking doesn’t mix.

I had attended a Guns N’ Roses and Metallica show the night before at Giants Stadium.

I drank my share of Jack Daniels.

I put up a good fight for an hour but eventually relented. I discovered a patch of woods, stealthily immersed myself in them and took care of business very quietly.

And slickly covered the evidence with leaves and brush.

I bet nothing grows in that spot to this day.

Insane dog through the mail slot

It was kind of fun.

I would take the day’s mail, loudly open the mail slot and wait. Wait for the insane dog on the other side to emerge.

Once the mail was placed about a quarter of the way inside the mail slot, Cujo would do the rest and pull it through. Then, I assume, he devoured it all and collapsed among the Shop Rite and KMart flyers and the PSEG bills.

One morning Cujo wasn’t around.

And the garage door was open.

Game on.

It was inevitable. He was going to run out of that garage and take my leg off.

Sure enough, he slowly appeared and approached me like a pissed off jaguar.

I remembered what I was taught at mailman school. Turn your satchel towards your attacker and grab the pepper spray.

Satchel was turned but I couldn’t locate the spray.

The dog jumped on me, I stood my ground and he went to town on the mail that peaked out of the top of the bag. I let it all go down, willing to go to jail for mail fraud as long as I lived to see another day.

The dog never attacked me.

But he ripped the shit out of that mail.

Turns out, he just hated mail.

Flooding an elderly women’s toilet

This was real bad.

Like if I owe one person in the world the most sincerest of apologies, it is/was this woman.

Don’t hate me based on what you are about to read.

From time to time I get real bad intestinal issues. Like I’m going to go right here and now moments. It is a Van Veen family trait that traces its origins back to a small town in Holland in the 1850’s.

I made that up.

I’ve been much better the past few years. I think it is due to the fact that I eat much less white bread and pasta. Who knows.

What my poor wife has witnessed over the years.

My shift was coming to an end that day and it hit. Just like it always hits. Out of nowhere and violent. There were no public restrooms within a short distance so desperation kicked in.

Desperation just makes it worse.

When I’m desperate I do stupid things.

Like knock on a random door and ask an elderly woman to use her bathroom.

She was clearly terrified.

I did not have to wear a mailman’s uniform so she had to trust that I worked for the post office.

I rushed into her bathroom, took care of business, flushed and washed my hands.

The toilet wasn’t fully flushing.

I finally grasped how dumb I was to have stopped here.

I panicked yet again, rushed out of the pink tiled bathroom and ran to my truck. I told myself I could avoid ever seeing her again by sneakily delivering her mail for the remainder of the summer.

Postscript: She called my boss and he was waiting for me when I returned to the office an hour later. He asked me to confirm the story, assuming the lady was crazy.

I told him it was true.

He laughed uncontrollably and so did I.

I feel worse right now than I did even then.