Going Postal On The
U.S. Postal Service
This is my grandfather’s postal scale from his days as postmaster at Camp Shelby, Mississippi, during World War II.
Today, I’m going to heap some modest invective upon the U.S. Postal Service. However, a disclaimer is in order. All of the USPS workers I know personally are hardworking, committed professionals. I don’t want to inadvertently incur the ire of some powerful letter carriers and never again see another gun magazine delivered to my home.
“Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds.” That’s not actually the motto of the U.S. Postal Service. The Greek historian Herodotus penned that catchy spot of prose some 2,500 years ago in reference to couriers who ran messages during the sundry wars between the Persians and the Greeks. Modern postmen have just sort of adopted it.
The Problem
One should really never complain about something unless you have a better suggestion. In this case, I just don’t. Some 525,469 people work for the U.S. Postal Service. They are the second-largest federal employer, right behind the Department of Defense. Total revenue for the USPS in 2024 was just under $80 billion. And yet, it still takes forever to get my mail, if it arrives at all. I have no idea how to fix that. The solution is obviously not people or money.
One part of the problem seems to be Amazon. Nobody goes to stores anymore. Nowadays, if you want something, you just scheme it out a few days in advance and order it online. Amazon Prime offers free shipping with a few exceptions, so there’s no disincentive. That simple observation has increased the USPS workload astronomically.
My letter carrier is an exceptionally nice guy named Joe. We live way out in the hinterlands, so Joe delivers the mail in his private vehicle, an antiquated beater Oldsmobuick. Around Christmas time, there is this tiny Joe-shaped void inside his modest sedan.
Every cubic inch of that thing, to include the front dashboard, is covered with packages. He tells me that as he leaves the post office, it is like driving a tank. He just has a little vision slit that he can still see through. Joe will not be disappointed to see Christmas in his rearview mirror, presuming he can someday see his rearview mirror.
The Old Days
My maternal grandfather spent a career with the U.S. Postal Service. He was postmaster at Camp Shelby, Mississippi, during World War II. One of his letter carriers was caught throwing sales circulars in the trash rather than delivering them. Back then, the letter carrier made his rounds on foot with a big honking mailbag over his shoulder. That thing was heavy. Covertly binning all that vapid newsprint at the beginning of the run made the rest of the day much more palatable.
Folks do stupid stuff like that all the time nowadays. We’re lazier now than was once the case. Back then, however, throwing away junk mail was a really big deal. I forget the details, but I’m pretty sure Pappy said they had the poor guy ritually disemboweled or broken on the wheel or something similar.
Forward to the Present…
I have had four mailed checks evaporate into the ether over the past four years. One of them was astronomical — sufficient to buy me a new machinegun. In each case, these letters just disappeared. I eventually had to stop payment and send replacements.
They never did show up. I guess they fell down a storm drain or something. Who knows?
I mailed a check to Pennsylvania for a new gun four weeks ago. I opted to send the letter with tracking, just in case. It spent the first 10 days in postal purgatory in the Memphis distribution center. Then, it went to Denver, where it remained for several days. As I type these words, its voyage of discovery has finally taken it to Philadelphia. I have no idea why all that is.
These three Roman dice followed a most curious path
between the United Kingdom and my front door.
War Story
You can find absolutely anything on eBay. I once bought a pair of 1,800-year-old lead Roman dice from the United Kingdom. There was no point. Given the Roman numerals, I just thought they looked cool. I followed the tracking data online as my prize left England.
My dice made the uneventful trek across the Atlantic Ocean in five days. Once trapped in the Memphis distribution center, however, they just languished. I imagine that place looking something like the gigantic warehouse at the end of the first Indiana Jones movie.
A month passed, and then another. I sent an email query and eventually got a note back from somebody who might not have been a machine. They said they were searching diligently for my package.
After six months, I got a note of apology saying they just couldn’t find it. As my dice were not insured, the email explained that I was simply out of luck. In frustration, I went online and found a replacement. It duly arrived from the UK in nine days. The very next day, the original package showed up unexpectedly. Now, I have Roman dice running out of my ears.
The Solution
It costs a bit south of $11 to get a tracking number on a standard letter. You have to go to the post office to purchase that. Despite the fact that our local post office has three checkout stations, there is never more than one working at a time, even if the line stretches through the door and down the street. I guess that’s some kind of post office rule.
As I said, I have no idea what the solution is. I do know that I would actively avoid taking responsibility for fixing it. I’d sooner develop some ghastly intractable skin rash.
The U.S. Postal Service is more complicated than the human female. Trying to streamline that place would be like trying to organize a battalion’s worth of hungry, sleep-deprived toddlers. Rank madness would invariably ensue.
If you haven’t seen this yet, you can go to the USPS website and sign up for Informed Delivery for free. Once your account is active, the postal service will send you an email every day with a digital photograph of every mail piece you have incoming. That service lets me know whether or not I need to make the long trek up the hill to check my mail every day. That’s actually pretty cool.
I’ve always harbored a fondness for both the post office and our letter carriers. The post office always has a distinctively pleasant odor — a symbiotic melding of cardboard and glue paste. Our letter carriers are invariably friendly and personable. For now, however, I am just thankful that the letter I mailed from Mississippi to Pennsylvania finally somehow made it out of Denver.
