CanadaPost is awesome-sauce

I read on twitter the other day that CanadaPost may be considering privatizing, before they do (or don't) I need to get this post out there, just in case...

The title is an attempt to get my mail carrier to like me. This is a bit of a stretch since I don't think he knows I have a blog, and he probably doesn't even know my name. Even though he delivers my mail on a fairly regular basis.

But he doesn't like me. And I can understand why. I live in a renovation nation, a dump run waiting to happen. And this intereferes with his job, on a regular basis. Our mailbox has moved from the house, to the street, to nailed to a tree, to nailed to a stake 6 inches in front of said tree, to the same stake up beside the house, all while askew and slightly rusted out. We have been negligent snow shovelers in the winter, and we water our grass with a sprinkler in spring. And my few interactions with him I have screamed in his face because I was scraping off my windows while late for work and didn't hear him coming so he startled me and I reacted (you'd think I'd have learned it was him after the first encounter). I understand that our house is not his favourite on his route but this makes me distraught.

See, while I was growing up I think my best friend was the Post Office Lady. She is probably 30 to 40 years older than me, but she was still my idol growing up. Her blonde hair was almost down to her waist and it was crimped and teased everyday and she put a banana clip on the side of her head that served no purpose other than to add flair. Her uniform was always prestine, and seeing her meant contact with the outside world. I would take mail to send to my grandmothers that lived far away and she would let me run home and grab my extra pennies that I forgot (I could never remember if it was 47 or 48 cents to mail a letter to the US). She would just smile, laugh, and tell me what I was missing. Looking back, I think I did it just to have an excuse to chat with her a second, and sometimes third time in a day.

Presents are my love language and she was the lady that gave me presents every time I saw her, so I thought she just loved me to pieces. When I would go get the mail she would make me an apple balloon, those ballons that you twist up and they look like an apple (I have no other way to describe them than that, so google it if you need a clearer picture). And if she didn't give you an apple balloon she gave you a stamp on your hand, sometimes the stamps smelled like blueberries or strawberries. And I loved all of her gadgets. She had a carousel of rubber stamps, and a roller of water so your wouldn't have to lick the envelopes or the stamps. She had an elastic ball that was the size of my head that had every colour in the rainbow. And she wore a thimble on a daily basis. Who doesn't want to have a reason to actually use a thimble?

When I grew up and moved away and would travel I would write postcards to my parents. Just in case I would write Hi Post Office Lady for her to see when she was sorting mail. I would follow up and ask my mom if she saw my greeting. I was excited in thinking that if I were the Post Office Lady someone would say hi to me in a postcard from their travels around the world. Because let's be honest, if you worked in a post office, you'd read the postcards.

I think I may be the only person in this entire country that truly thinks that CanadaPost is awesome-sauce. I find it fascinating that I write some letters and numbers on a piece of paper and it arrives on someone else's door within a few days. You try doing that. And who doesn't love getting mail? Like, real mail, not bills and junk mail, but a letter from a friend that someone took the time to write. Or a care package, tell me of a time that you got a care package and it didn't change your perspective on the whole of humanity.

This is why it is so difficult for me that my mail carrier doesn't like me. I make the excuses for him when the mail doesn't come on time. I anticipate his coming to the mail box, and I try to go out of my way to make sure that he has a clear path to deliver it, partly because I never want to miss out on a hug from a friend in written form, but more-so because I don't want to accidentally scream in his face for the fifth time. So, please like me, mail carrier, because even though you're grumpy and temperamental I unconditionally like you, and for that you can thank the Post Office Lady.

That's all.


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