I’m making a prediction. In the not too distant future there will be a litany of law suits against millions of unsuspecting homeowners brought about by none other than your humble postman/woman/transman/transwoman (that’s it, I think I’m covered).
Sub- section 2.1 of my review (if you are a newbie, refer to first post, it will save confusion); I decided to bid farewell to my, then current, employment and move onto pastures new. So, in an effort to drum up more money in less time (thus allowing me the freedoms to follow my dreams), I, in a flash of inspiration decided that if “Rock” had more work, I could do less work, but to achieve the former, I needed to lay the foundations to enable myself to do the latter.
So, I produced some rather glorious leaflets (old school social media) in order that I could spread the good word and advertise Rock’s business and thought I’ll just pop ‘em through the doors around the neighbourhood. Easy Peasy.
I came upon a couple of issues. Firstly, shingle driveways are a nightmare if you are a chronic over-pronator; it’s a fair task to get any kind of elegant footing never mind making it to the front door. That, though, was not the main event. The main event was the humble letter box. My, now, arch nemesis. Not the old style letter boxes, they are fine. You open the flap, insert said post and you have heard it hit the floor on the other side before you have even turned around to depart. No, I’m referring to the modern letter box, the ones with the fuzzy wuzzy draft excluder* device on the inside. If you have ever tried to insert anything through one of these letter boxes you will understand that these are a thing of nightmares. It’s just a piece of paper; but will it go through that gosh darned letterbox? In answer; no, not without assistance. You see, you have to create a sort of slip stream with your fingers by inserting them in with the post, else rendering the post in a crumpled mess on the wrong side of the door. If you are half hearted in your fingering, the letters do go in, but not quite; so end up in a slightly less so, but still crumpled mess on the right side of the door. You have to commit. The problem with that level of commitment is that the fingers are now fully inserted to the knuckles and after you get to number 15 it causes some significant chaffing. By number 41 you’re close to drawing blood.
*Totally unnecessary btw, unless you have 10 postal deliveries a day
But then I had a horrific flashback. A poster. In the post office a few weeks beforehand, about dog awareness. I had, at the time, guffawed when I read the posters gravely informing readers about dog safety and that, somehow 2,500 postal workers are hurt by dogs each year in the line of duty. ‘Must be the ones in the countryside, the ones with gated front gardens and loose dogs (not sexually…I don’t think that is a thing in the canine world)” I mused. Then it came to me as I stood there with my fingers dangling temptingly on the wrong wide of the letter box. Ahhh thats thats it. That’s what’s happening! I withdrew my hand quick-smart before a bored Jack Russell took a run up at the front door.
Now, before you hit up Google for more information (just me then?) I will save you the trouble. There are people out there who have lost actual digits whilst trying to earn a crust. The issue is widespread but am I alone in my ignorance of the plight of the beleaguered postal worker? I don’t think so. Dog Awareness Week? (mid July if you are interested), The League Table of dog attack hotspots? (Don’t relocate to Brighton if you’re a postie, you’re a goner for sure). Now, luckily, apart from some worn shoe leather and grazed knuckles , I came away unscathed but only due to good fortune. From now on I shall be taking my “Postal Peg” with me. Don’t tell me you don’t know what a Postal Peg is?
Whilst looking into all this, I unearthed some frightening stats relating to the dangers some people encounter at work. Not the ones you might think either; my initial thoughts were roofers, electricians and possibly MI5, however, top of the list is farming, where, last year there were 193 deaths involving heavy machinery and livestock (you’d do well to slide out from under a 1000kg bovine) and builders at 125. I wouldn’t mind but these are not jobs that have managed to make it onto the best paid jobs in the world list. So I’m hedging my bets, staying out of the rain and blogging with a coffee by my side. I might not get paid but, at least I am still alive.
I might have a biscuit.