I want to pick up a young girl from school in a stolen Post Office jeep.

Show her how obsolete her world has become. Love is now emailed. Man was once seen through his handwriting, but is now measured by the texts he types. That scratching on paper is passing. Spell-check now corrects his errors. “Send” is pressed to deliver his message.

Bills, men’s magazines, postcards are all dwindling from postal delivery like a hand-mixed cherry coke. All is canned. Everything is bulk mail or packages from Amazon.

No one waits by the curb.

I want to show her, speeding in circles around cul-de-sacs, and the boxes beyond the sidewalks that it is sad nothing of importance is left in these postal truck to deliver. Even dogs no longer bark or chase the mailman.

Only Grandma is left in this battle against the future. Maybe the grandkids will pause, noticing her elderly scrawl of sending her love and by experiencing an occasional postal rejoice of, “Look what I got in the mail from Nanny.”

Young boys are no longer enticed by the comic book ads. They have lost the anticipation of the mail. They do not send away for X-RAY SPECS looking for a super human vision upon the world. Sea Monkeys are delusional. No one wants brine shrimp in the future. No wonder is left for magic tricks. Seahorses eat their young.

We have all gone postal and what hands had delivered, became a machine hum, and faded to the artificial intelligence of smarter machines.

She pays no attention to my theft of this jeep. She is texting to her boyfriend that as soon as her crazy old grandfather drops her off at home from school, she will be free to text some more. She will read my letters from prison for stealing this jeep to show her, do not marry a man till you see his handwriting, will wait by the curb for you, believes in magic, sends letters in the mail, and wants X-RAY SPECS.


Categories: Humor, Life, Observations, People

Tags: , , , , , , ,

6 replies

  1. Does she also realize that brilliant pieces like this are now blogged online at WordPress instead of published in the New Yorker and dropped thru the metal slot in living room walls? I remember waiting as a young girl for an hour in the afternoons so I could see my grandmother’s subscription magazines and other assorted bulk mail come pummeling through that opening with a flourish. It was a thrill to know the mailman was on the depositing side, but he had no clue I was on the receiving end. Enjoyed this immensely. P.S. And if you believe my latest post, God doesn’t even stalk by snail mail anymore, he’s also into online profiles. Who’da thunk?

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Miss Menopause….I thought I banned you from reading me because you are too perceptive and are on to my tricks as a writer? I will read your latest post and let you know what I think. And thank you for saying my article is brilliant like those found in the old days of The New Yorker.


  3. I just say what I know. And I know Sterling writing when I see it. So I’ll submit to your perceptive accusation – – Just not the ban. Please?


  4. Reminded me also that the milkman doesn’t deliver door to door, Mr. Chips, and UTZ don’t either. lol Good last touch about her texting her boyfriend LOL

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Recently I wrote(not typed) in my journal(not blog) about handwriting… cursive specifically. I wrote the entire thing in cursive. I wrote about cursive writing as an art form. I wrote about how sad it makes me that I sometimes have to write notes in print because someone will always ask me, “what does that say?” I also wrote about how good it felt to be creating art at that moment.

    Type is clear and easy to interpret. Print has its flaws but is generally easy to follow. But cursive is a special art. It’s more than letters making words. All the curves and loops make it more thrilling to read… the way curves and loops make roller coasters thrilling to ride . I am always thankful for a handwritten note. I really enjoyed this.

    Liked by 1 person

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