Gone Postal

“Where you been?”

“Sick. Real sick.”

“Yeah? Better off you’d died.”

“Why’s that?”

“Merton’s been hollering. Called the supervisor. He wants your ass, Jay.”

“That so? Well, last I checked we got a union. We got sick leave.”

“Merton said you didn’t call in. Nobody was covering your route. You see your case yet?”

“I just walked in.”

“Well, it’s a goddamn mess. You got at least six crates of rough-sorted, about two hundred pounds of junk mail, plus the packages.”

“Neither rain nor snow nor dark of night.”

“Jesus, Jay.  We’re talking the goddamned US Mail.”

“Is that so?”

 

Friday Fictioneers

 

4 thoughts on “Gone Postal

  1. Nice, the posties have been doing an amazing job over here in the UK to keep us stocked up with records (in my case) all through these 3 lockdowns we’ve had. They should be knighted!

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