Rain, Sleet or Shine; Where to Mr. Postman?

Prompt: Write about a portal or doorway that is hiding in plain sight.

Rain, Sleet or Shine; Where to Mr. Postman?

When meeting someone for the first time a typical question is often asked about their profession or occupation. When I respond that I am a postal carrier I am usually answered with silence or an indifferent, grunting sigh. I unashamedly respond with the postal creed, “Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays the postal courier from the swift completion of one’s appointed rounds.” I then add, “You would be surprised by all sorts of things that happen on my mail route. I have had multiple, exciting adventures during my tenure. Naturally, I have had the usual dog chases and butt nibbles on my derriere. That all went away when my route became a motorized delivery. Nonetheless, I have been involved in incredibly zealous snow ball fights where I was the one who became the living snowball catapult. There have been times when I became an active agent for the police assisting in their investigations of assorted crimes in the neighborhood. When deliveries were slow, I would check on a few of the seniors making sure they were okay. I even became a hero of sorts while on my route a woman collapsed on her front lawn. I stopped my vehicle racing over to her to call 911 and administer CPR. Thankfully, it was not a heart attack. She passed out from the overwhelming smell of her dog’s duty when she bent down to pick it up.”

But let me share with you an extraordinary event that happened to me on my final day of my route. The crew at my local office had planned a retirement party for me. I was really jacked up about the whole ordeal. Forty years working for the USPS! My comrades would affectionately refer to me as a “lifer.” In retrospect, I guess I was one. But the party was not the event that would transform my day or rather my life.

On this final day of my service, I had one more route to complete. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. It was business as usual. The day lingered, but now I was down to my last drop off. A small parcel needed to be delivered in a remote area. I was not familiar with this rural area. The postal address had only the building number and street. There was no name, no zip code, and no return address. Over the years the USPS had issued regulations that made mail undeliverable without a name, zip code and a return address. I could have easily headed back to the office and turned it in.Like so many unclaimed letters and packages, they would end up in the dead letter file along with the thousands of letters sent to Santa Claus every year. (Sorry, kids that you had to hear this.) Instead, I decided to investigate. For a moment I wondered if the crew back at the office was playing a practical joke on me. I realized that even joking around with the mail could be construed as a federal offense.I hardly thought anyone would dare risk their careers on an old lifer like me for one silly joke.

The gravel road was winding and full of potholes. Dense brush and trees lined each side of the road. This address really was out in nowhere. I pressed on avoiding a few squirrels, rabbits, and an inquisitive bear as they meandered across the road. Finally, I arrived at the destination listed on the parcel. The tiny mailbox was the size of a sparrow’s nest. It had blue numbers painted on it which matched the parcel. Unfortunately, the parcel was too big. I figured I would have to deliver it up a narrow rocky path. I pulled my truck over into the brush climbing out the opposite side into the gravel road.Just a few steps onto the road I saw an amazing site. Out in the middle of nowhere on the side of the road stood a large blue mailbox similar to one you would find on a city corner or neighborhood street. I rubbed my eyes and then I rubbed them again.

I paused a moment to take in a deep breathe.I whispered “In all of the crazy places to put a mailbox! Why? I have to check this out.” With the package in hand, I walked closer to the blue box. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. It had its usual USPS logo markings. There was even a standard placard for pick-up times, although none were actually listed. With my parcel in hand, I bent down to open the discharge door of the box to collect any mail.

Instantly, there was a slurp followed with a gulping noise. My body compressed and I was ingested by the mailbox. Once I could gather my wits, I realized that I was suctioned inside the box along with the parcel I was holding. I was incredulous! “What in tarnation is going on?” I yelped. Without warning, I plummeted downward like a rock thrown from a cliff. I still grasped the package as though it was some sort of parachute. As quickly as I was swallowed up by the mailbox, my free fall came to an abrupt stop as I landed on a plush, soft, couch. Again I evoked a perturbed, “What in tarnation is happening to me?” I surveyed my situation. The room was huge being decorated with all sorts of vintage artwork, novelties, statutes, a large wardrobe, and countless bric-a-brac.

I heard a disembodied voice say, “Welcome.I trust you had a pleasant tumble into the Zip Drive Traveler? My name is Helmsman Zulu. You can call me Zulu. I steer the ZDT to where the zip codes tell me.”

I protested, “Where in tarnation are you? This place is giving me the creeps. Why am I even here?”

Zulu responded, “Oh, you like that word ‘tarnation’. Please understand that there will be no cursing on the ZDT. Oh, but where are my manners? Just walk around the wardrobe and you will see me at the helm, or rather the ZDT locator.”

I proceeded around the wardrobe to find a short, squirrely looking man sitting at an electronic console. Beside him was another individual of sorts. It looked like a cat with a mischievous grin like the one from Alice in Wonderland. This whole thing seemed creepy to me.

Helmsman Zulu introduced me to his sidekick cat. “Here is my chief executive officer and engineer, Mr. Whiskers. He handles everything that I do not do which is pretty much everything,” he said laughing hysterically. His laughter caused him to gulp in air forcing a fit of coughing with mucus coming through his nose. Whiskers on the other hand looked at me with a sardonic smile from ear to ear. Again, I felt like creeper crawlers were racing up my back.

“Please tell me why I am here,” I demanded.

Zulu responded, “Yes, yes of course. Please do not go postal on me,” snorting a laugh through his nose with more mucus oozing out. “Mr. Whiskers and I monitor the thought waves and dreams of all the people in the galaxy. Your pattern of thinking has been admirable to Whiskers and I. The amplitude and frequency of your dream energy has been remarkable for someone of your caliber as a postal carrier.”

“Hold on a moment; what are you getting at? I have done my best each and every day,” I said in an indignant voice.

“Yes, we know how dedicated you have been to your career. You have acted as an exemplary employee. You never complain and you are always giving hundred percent of your energy. Because of your high energy field, we zeroed in on your location. It is our mission to reward people like you.”

“So, you kidnap people and reward them? I said cynically.

“In a manner of speaking, yes,” Zulu said.“It is our aim to give you the ride of a lifetime. We will take you places you always have dreamed of visiting.”

“Do you really think I would want to do this?” interrupting him.

“Yes, beyond a shadow of a doubt my postal friend. The parcel in your possession contains all of the places and events your dreams have ever desired to experience. Now it is time to open it and select your first stop.”

Nervously, I opened the package. I emptied its contents onto Zulu’s console. It was merely strips of paper. I looked closely at them. Many had a five-digit code; others looked like GPS coordinates; a few had a city and date printed on them.

“How did you get these, Zulu?”

“I extracted them from your positive dream energy focusing on the places and events that intrigued you. Now I will place them in a hat and you will make your random selections. But first there are some things you need to know. You will be allowed to select three locations. Each visit will last only ten minutes in earthly time, but the episode you witness may seem much longer. Because these places and events occurred in the past they can not be changed. So don’t break anything and do not step on any insects!”

I asked, “How much longer are the visits?”

“That depends,” Zulu said. “For instance, if you are being chased by a bear it might last a minute unless you outrun the bear. Or, for example, if you were engaged in a romantic endeavor it could seem like a lifetime.”

I thought to myself. Did I ever want to be around bears? For my sake I hope not. I asked him, “Why do they have to be random selections?”

“Because Mr. Whiskers likes little challenges. He loves to see if people really wanted to visit that place or event after all. There have been times when we have had to extricate our clients immediately after placement. Furthermore, Mr. Whiskers and I love to see how the person handles him or herself in unique situations. Plus, we love a good laugh or two at some of the craziness that happens.”

With hesitancy I asked, “What if I decide not to do this?”

Zulu looked at me contemptuously. “We have gone to great lengths to get you here, Mr. Postal Carrier. Naturally, you can opt out. But I assure you, you will miss an opportunity of a lifetime. Regret will literally hang like a cloud over your head for the rest of your remaining days. Mr. Whiskers will see to that.”

I then looked at the cat and his sardonic grin spread over his entire face at the mention of the word “regret.” Again, I got the heebie-geebies.

“Okay then. Let’s do it. I’ll make the best of it,” I said.

Looking at the cat, Zulu said “What did I do with my hat? I need to mix them up with my hat!”

I interrupted by saying “There are dozens of hats in the wardrobe. Should I grab one?”

“Ah, here it is.” Zulu then reached into a black top hat grabbing a white rabbit.The rabbit of all things cried out, “I’m late. I’m late for a very important date. No time to say hello, goodbye. I’m late.”

“Oops!” he cried. “I grabbed the wrong one. Here it is!” Then Zulu grabbed all the pieces of paper and shoved them into the hat.

“And one more thing. Once you finish with your final selection, Mr. Whiskers will pull you out and send you on your merry way in your postal vehicle like nothing ever happened. Do not worry, though, you will still have the memories from your incredible journey for the rest of your days.”

“I think you mean haunt me for the rest of my days,” I wryly responded.

I reached into the hat. I pulled out a slip of paper with 10036, December 31, 1999. Zulu entered the information into his console. The machine purred as did Mr. Whiskers. Zulu turned to me saying, “Off to New York City you go. To Times Square 11:30pm on December 31, 1999. You will be ringing in the new millennium.

Zulu instructed me to sit on the couch. Suddenly, my body compressed like meat squeezed into a sausage casing. Instantly, I was slurped up into the tunnel and spit out of the mailbox on a corner in New York in my original 3D body. Like Zulu said, I was in the middle of Times Square amid thousands of revelers cheering, yelling, drinking, and celebrating the change to the new millennium. I had always wanted to be there but I could not because I could not get the time off to travel. The celebrations were magnificent until a dubious event happened just before the clock struck midnight. A ne’er-do-well had removed a manhole cover on the street I was on. I stepped right into the coverless sewer falling into the bowels of the city.

As I tumbled down the sewer, my body compressed and I was hurtling down another tunnel. My free fall was abruptly halted as I landed on the couch inside the ZDT.

I could hear the snide snickering from Mr. Whiskers. I wondered if he knew all along that I would tumble down the sewer?

Zulu commented, “Boy, that must have been fabulous! All the hoopla, fireworks, and revelry. Plus, you were about to get into the belly of New York City. What more could you have wanted?”

“Just bring me the hat Zulu.” So Zulu brought me the hat for my second pick. I pulled out 65401 April 3, 1860, St. Joseph, Missouri. No sooner had I looked at the destination, I was converted again into a sausage and dumped out of the mailbox. I found myself standing at the station house for the Pony Express in St. Joseph. I was such an admirer of these daring postal couriers of yesteryear. I had to see what it was all about.

I went inside the station and a clerk proceeded to ask me some questions to qualify as a rider. I said I only was here to observe, but he hired me anyway regardless of my age and size after I recited these words: “I agree not to use profane language, not to get drunk, not to gamble, not to treat animals cruelly, and not to do anything else that is incompatible with the conduct of a gentleman.” I was given a stallion and the mail pouch. The clerk pointed me in the direction of the trail. I was only a hundred yards from the station when I slid off the horse getting my foot caught in the stirrup. The horse kept going and I was going along with him for the ride, but on the dusty ground.I shrieked for help and then the compression began.

When I arrived back in the ZDT both Zulu and Mr. Whiskers were laughing hysterically at my misfortune with the horse. Zulu was laughing so much mucus covered his cheeks. Mr. Whiskers was rolling on the floor meowing like a cat on a hot tin roof. Whatever made me think I could ride a horse anyway? Now that I think of it, it must have been entertaining to watch.

After Zulu cleaned himself up, he came over to me with the hat. With some reluctance I reached in pulling out another paper. It read 32952, Merritt Island Florida, July 16-24, 1969. I quickly recognized that date as the Apollo 11 launch takeoff and lunar module landing. I was so fascinated with space travel. I was a kid when all this happened! Wow, I could hardly believe I would step on the moon! I had little time before I compressed again and I was spewed up from the mailbox on Merritt Island. I ran over to the launch pad hoping to get an autograph of Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin. I did not, however, think this out very carefully as I scaled the fence. The countdown process was well underway. Over launch pad speakers, a voice called out T minus 60 seconds and counting. “Holy smoke! I am standing beneath one of the Saturn V rockets! I am about to become toast! Help me Zulu! Get me out of here!”

Bam! Slam! Slurp and gulp! I was back on the ZDT. Zulu and Mr. Whiskers could not contain themselves. Their laughter was humiliating. I was nothing more than a lab rat for them to help them pass their time.

I needed to prove to them I was no push over. I pleaded with the two to let me pick again. Zulu was surprised to hear I wanted another pick. Both looked at each other and smirked. Mr. Whiskers said, “Give him what he wants.”

My fourth pick was 91000, Jerusalem, 30 AD. For the fourth time I was deposited out of the box. On a dusty road outside of Jerusalem, I saw the man called Jesus of Nazareth carrying His cross to Calvary. I saw the soldiers nail His hands and feet to it. I saw the centurion thrust his sword into His side. I heard Jesus say “It is finished.” Later, I saw His body taken off the cross and placed into a tomb. And, after three days I saw Mary Magdalene witness that Jesus, the Christ, had risen from the dead! I know for certain that my true help comes from Christ.

Back inside the ZDT, Zulu and Mr. Whiskers were in awe of what they had witnessed. They had no explanation. They returned me back to my vehicle. The blue mailbox had vanished. Today I saw my hope for eternity. The Truth does set me free.

-END-

Blue mailboxes do not come with warning labels.

Author: Pete Gautchier

Acknowledgement: Reedsy.com prompt