Going Postal

Going Postal

It wasn’t Mattie’s fault.

Put it down to a chain of events. Circumstances. An uneven floor; a wobbly cart; a gap under a cabinet. Perhaps slipshod maintenance, or a less-than-diligent cleaning crew.

Mattie was a temporary employee. A college student, home for the holiday break. His job was to roll a canvas cart full of mail from the receiving room to the sorting center, and it was not his fault that the cart had a wonky wheel. 

Certainly it wasn’t Mattie’s fault that the wonky wheel caught on a floorboard which sat just a bit too proud above its neighbor. Not his fault that a nut came loose and the wheel fell off, causing the cart to tip and spill the mail across the floor. Not his fault—and nobody blamed him. 

Mattie was sent back to the receiving room for a fresh cart full of mail, while the sorters bundled scattered envelopes willy-nilly into the bins. Someone shoved the disabled cart off into a dark corner, where an eager spider took up residence in the underframe.

Carriers began to line up, waiting for their route allotments. 

“Where’s our loads, Jolene?” grumbled Phyllis. A veteran on the cusp of retirement, she had not a qualm about speaking up. 

“Had an incident in here,” came a response from behind the swing door. “Bad cart. Be with you shortly.”

“Hrmph!” hrmphed Phyllis. “If I wasn’t about to clock out for good, I’d call for an audit of this place. Ain’t like it used to be! Care and efficiency has gone out the window. But it doesn’t matter to me at this point. I do my route, and I do it well.” She crossed her muscular arms and stared around at her coworkers. 

“But whoever wins my route, better keep up my reputation!”

At last they loaded their bins and set off, aiming for the swift completion of their appointed rounds. Jolene turned off the lights in the sorting room, and no one knew there was one envelope left behind.

✉️

After hours, the cleaning crew arrived. 

“This place needs a remodel,” Russ observed, ticking off on his fingers, “Install LED lights instead of those outdated incandescent globes. Pull out the wooden cabinets and put in stainless steel. Take up this warped floor and replace it with linoleum. Wonder how often someone trips on that sticking-up part there.” He scuffed his foot across it. 

“Original hardwood planks,” Donny explained. “Historical Society wants to keep everything vintage.”

“Well, it could at least be sanded down and refinished.”

Donny bent down to run his thumb along the ridge. 

“Yup. Make it easier to maintain.”

“All right, guys,” Betsy scolded. “We got work to do. Let’s get cracking.” She grabbed a broom and swept together a small mound of dirt and bits of paper. Where was the dust pan? Not on the cleaning cart. 

Donny was plugging in the floor polisher, while Russ sprayed glass cleaner on a window. No one was watching Betsy. She pushed the pile of sweepings under a nearby cabinet. A bit of something white was just visible, so she swished the dry mop vigorously across the gap. Next time, she promised herself. Next time, I’ll clean thoroughly under there.

Betsy’s promise was never to be fulfilled. 

She was called away to care for her great aunt, who’d had an aneurysm. Unfortunate, but it has no bearing on this story other than to explain Betsy’s sudden departure.

✉️

The phone was ringing when Jolene arrived.

“Yes, Phyllis is still on the route… She retires at the end of the month… Yes, I’ll be sure to tell her. She’ll watch for it… Yes, very conscientious… ”

“Mrs. Agnelli?” guessed Raul.

“You got it! She’s expecting a very important letter in the mail, and it should have already arrived. She has utmost confidence in Phyllis, but—could I please remind her to look for it?”

✉️

Sandra joined the cleaning crew to replace Betsy. The first evening, trying to learn what was what, she asked about shifting the cabinets.

“Nope! Far too heavy. Those things are solid oak. Been there a hundred years. Literally.”

“But… Eww, no one ever cleans under them? There must be a century-deep layer of crud under every one of them.”

“Ah, but it’s historic crud!” Russ winked.

“I guess I’ll just poke a yardstick under and swipe it around. Dislodge the loose junk, at least… Oof!” 

Sandra sputtered at the puff of fine particles. Dust bunnies, tiny paper fibers, a feather (a feather?), a couple paper clips, a dime—anything thin enough to fit under the cabinet had found its way there. “Aaa-chooo… I think that’s about all.” She pocketed the dime and the paper clips, swept up the rest, and moved on to the next cabinet.

By the time the cleaning crew was ready to turn off the lights, Sandra had accumulated quite a stash of paper clips, two shirt buttons (regulation postal service pale blue), and twenty-seven cents. She set the buttons on top of a cupboard for someone else to find. 

✉️

Mrs. Agnelli called again. She still hadn’t gotten her letter.

“Are you sure it was sent?” Jolene drummed her fingers on the countertop as the unhappy customer rattled on. “What was the date?... You know, we have an awful lot of mail this time of year… Well, unfortunately, sometimes that happens… I would suggest… Mrs. Agnelli, listen please!… I would suggest asking the sender to use priority mail next time, if it’s important.”  

Jolene set the phone down ever so gently. “Whooo. I understand that she’s in a stew about the missing mailpiece, but I guess I’m supposed to magically produce it for her. Or Phyllis is.”

“Hey,” said Raul, “I read an article the other day about missing mail delivered decades late. Maybe it’ll be one of those!”

“Argh. Raul, don’t even go there!”

✉️

Phyllis retired. Mrs. Agnelli continued to call. 

Kim got the coveted route. She came straggling in late on the first day, sweating and haggard.

“How’d it go? You look beat!” 

“Mrs. Agnelli!… How can one old lady make such a fuss? I may regret taking this route, Jolene. She made me turn my mailbag inside out! All I can say is, no wonder Phyllis could get cranky.”

✉️

Raul listened with half an ear when Jolene picked up the phone. Fully expecting it to be Mrs. Agnelli once again, he continued thumbing through a stack of envelopes until he realized that Jolene’s tone was sober and businesslike rather than overly patient. He paused.

“I see. Yes, we’ll expect them next week then.” She set the phone down. “Raul. That was Gina, secretary to Inspector General Erik Wulf. He’s coming with an audit team—”

“Next week. I heard. I’ll get the word out—The Wulf Pack is on their way.”

✉️

The operational audit report named several items. An uneven floor; several wobbly carts; unsanitary gaps under the cabinets. Maintenance was deemed to be slipshod, and the cleaning crew less than diligent. 

“But there are remedies!” announced the Inspector General. “If it were up to me, I’d say let’s install LED lights instead of those outdated incandescent globes. Pull out the wooden cabinets and put in stainless steel. Take up this warped floor and replace it with linoleum. However—we can’t run athwart the Historical Society. So here’s the plan.”

✉️

Mattie (conveniently back home for spring break) hired on for the renovation work. 

“We’re going to move the cabinets,” Donny instructed, “so Sandra can give the floor a good scrubbing. This one first. Ready? One…two…”

They grunted and groaned, lifted and shifted, revealing a grimy gray rectangle. On it sat a scattering of rubber bands (rotten or not), a few paper clips, coins that Sandra hadn’t claimed yet, and—tucked tight against the baseboard—a rumpled envelope.

Mattie stepped across the grunge and reached gingerly for the wayward, once-white epistolary evidence.

He stood amidst the decades of debris, straining to read the inscription, but it was too faded to discern. Someone would need to look at it under a bright light. It wasn’t his job. He set it down on the cabinet that they had just moved, and forgot about it.

“Well!” Donny brushed his hands together in satisfaction. “Heavy lifting’s done until the floor’s clean. Let’s see what else we can do. Mattie, how about you tackle that alcove? Looks like a pile of broken-down stuff that needs clearing out.”

Mattie grabbed a broom and cleared away some spider webs before venturing into the alcove. Behind a hand truck with flat tires, there was a folded canvas cart. The kind he’d used a few months back, to transport mail. He unfolded it, and something dropped to the floor with a soft plop. Another stray envelope.

What a coincidence! It was addressed to Dorothea Agnelli, his next-door neighbor. He would hand deliver it. She was a bit of a pain, but she liked Mattie. And it wasn’t his fault that her mail was delayed. Was it?

✉️