The Postman’s Reprise
One or two of you may remember as far back as last Saturday when I wrote a wee scribble about a bone idle postman?
Just to recap – I was expecting delivery of a parcel, but instead all I got was a form telling me that the parcel was not delivered as “I was not in at the time of delivery” and that I could collect it in Skobieville if I wanted it.
Seeing as I was in at the time, this miffed me ever so slightly as it meant a ten mile round trip to collect something that had been within inches of my grasp.
I complained to his boss.
So what happened after? I’m sure you have all been waiting on the edge of your seats to hear the outcome?
Well…..
On Monday I collected the parcel, two speeding tickets and a parking fine. A normal jaunt into Skobieville, in other words. I decided to put the whole episode behind me and forget about it [along with the speeding tickets and the parking fine].
On Tuesday morning I was having a grand lie in, when the doorbell rang. I should explain that the doorbell is attached to the ceiling of the room directly beneath my bed, so it is the equivalent to being woken by a bomb. As usual, I rushed down to open the front door before whoever it was decided I wasn’t in.
I opened the door, and there was a young lad standing there, wearing a bright yellow day-glo thingy with An Post written on it. It was my friend the stand-in postman.
I immediately thought he had called to apologise, which would have been the right thing, but no, the little cunt had called to complain. So he stood there in his Day-Glo and I stood there in my pelt while he berated me for putting a black mark on his record. He insisted that he had rung the doorbell. I pointed out that if he had rung the doorbell I would have heard it. He accused me of sleeping through the racket. I pointed out that I hadn’t been able to sleep through the racket a few minutes earlier, and the sight of me standing there was proof that I can hear my own fucking doorbell.
I almost felt sorry for him. He was young, impetuous and lazy. He reminded me of myself at that age. I would have probably not bothered to deliver the parcel either. I apologised. I told him I was very sorry I had put a black mark on his employment record.
To make things up to him, I let him play with Woodya.
Or maybe I should say I let Woodya play with him?
Jayzus but that dog has a fucking lethal jaw!
I hope our replacement-stand-in-postman is a little more considerate…
I still find it hard to believe that some postmen will go to the effort of walking up to a door, writing a “you were out” tag and popping that in the post box, rather than just ringing the doorbell. If I hadn’t seen it before (on the youtubes), I wouldn’t believe it! It’s just so strange.
He probably did ring it. As you say it makes no other sense. Major Misunderstanding(Viz) was probably having a wank under the blankets.
GG – I can only assume that he reckoned it was quicker to bung a note in rather than hang around waiting for someone to answer the door. When you think about it, a postman rarely has to contact a householder and it would possibly throw him off his little routine?
TT – There is no way anyone [even someone having a wank] could possibly not hear that doorbell. It is fucking loud at the best of times but right underneath the bed?
Cricket…cricket….
fussy postal
“Cricket…cricket….” Wha?
It’s the sound they make which you hear in a silent room. That’s why they are called crickets.
Metaphor ?
tt – It’s a subject about which I know little. I will bow to your superior knowledge.
I like crickets. They remind me of France.
Moi aussi! You should be booking up now.