A Nice Man

“Have you noticed how the mail delivery just isn’t what it was. That guy who wanted to ruin it so we couldn’t vote; I hear is still there. I’ve noticed the same thing is happening to the paper delivery business too. Our paperboy, or girl, can’t say I ever met which ever one it is, but which ever one it is, is a terrible shot, and is always late. I find the paper most days not on the porch like when old Mr. Henry used to deliver it, but in the bushes. Once on the porch roof. Too bad he died, I bet he was a nice man. He looked nice don’t you think?

He was always on time. You could set your watch by him; I suppose if you had a reason to. All you really got to do is look at the computer, it takes care of all of that stuff, and it is never late. Do you know who the paper people are? I’ve thought of sitting on the porch and waiting for him or her, but every time I’ve tried, it seems like the phone rings or the dog needs something, and I have to come in and that is when the paper shows up. It is like they have some kind of telepathy.

Anyway, I liked old Henry. I’m sorry now I didn’t get to know him like you should when someone does such a good job of delivering your paper. Did you notice he had a limp? I wouldn’t have noticed it either, but when the dog jumped out of the bushes and bit him, he fell of the bike. I don’t know why the dog would want to bite the old guy; he hardly had any meat on him. But when he got up off the ground and apologized to the dog for being so clumsy, I noticed he limped back to where his bicycle had struck the tree. Funny the things you find out about people when you make the time to watch them.

This new person I’ve seen a few times. He or she is always wearing a stocking cap and sunglasses, even when it’s almost dark, so I can’t really see which one they are. And then by the time I make it to the porch, they are gone. I assume you must be paying them for delivering the paper. I know I haven’t been and I would think if they weren’t getting paid, they’d quit coming by.

They don’t remind me at all of Mr. Henry. He delivered the paper for a couple of years, and wouldn’t take a dime; not that he asked, or that I offered. I felt it was his job to ask if he thought he deserved compensation.

People just don’t seem to take pride in their work anymore. You remember Bertrand, the guy who worked at the store. The one who used to help carry the groceries out to the car. One day he just quit doing that. 

Did you ever complain to the manager about something having to do with Bertrand? I know I didn’t do anything that would have caused him to stop carrying the groceries. I never offered him anything for doing it, maybe that was it. I just assumed he was getting paid by the store, why should I pay him too. Be like getting paid twice for doing the same stupid thing. Most people, except the really lazy ones can carry their own groceries. I can see it maybe if you are really old like Mr. Henry, maybe then it would nice to get some help. But then if you can’t carry groceries to the car maybe you shouldn’t be shopping.

You know they got people now to do all kinds of things for you. You just call up and tell them what you want and they bring it right out to you. They even got people they call personal shoppers. They buy clothes for you, tell you what kind of furniture you would like, all sorts of things. I don’t think I’d want somebody telling me what I liked and didn’t like. How would they know that anyway? I don’t like most of the stuff you buy me for Christmas and birthdays. And you know me. I can’t image what kind of stuff I’d get from a complete stranger.

Maybe you have to fill out one of those things, those personality sheets that tells them what kind of person you are, and then they go off of that. I don’t know though; I tend to lie about answers on those things. I know what they are up to anyway. They just want to see what kind of preferences I have and then you start getting stuff in the mail, phone calls all hours of the night, and all because you were too lazy to go shopping for yourself. Best we stick to doing what we been doing, and not get involved in all that extracurricular type of stuff.

Maybe when we get too old to shop, we can think about doing that. But then we’d have all the extra time, and I’m sure they know that, so we’d get twice the stuff and calls. You ever know why old Henry quit delivering papers. I knew he was probably doing it for a little extra money and something to keep him occupied, but delivering papers? And the way he drove that bike of his. He should have got one of those three-wheel things that you can’t tip over or make wobble like you been drinking. That way if you are going to harass the dog, you could at least get off on the side the dog ain’t.

You ever give any thought to getting a job. Maybe get out of the house, make a few extra bucks. I bet you’d be good at delivering papers or carrying groceries. Suppose they got an age limit on some of those jobs though, but then you aren’t that old. Mr. Henry probably knew someone to get that job, and we don’t know nobody.

You know the more I think about Mr. Henry the more I wonder if he was delivering papers for a reason other than the money which he didn't seem to care about, and socializing. I’ve been hearing about old people pretending to be something they aren’t, and going around casing places for these hoodlum types who comeback when you are on vacation or to a funeral or something, and rob you. You know he’d know if you weren’t around. Maybe why he was always so careful to make sure the paper was on the porch and not in the bushes. That way if there were a couple of them on the porch he’d know if you were gone.  

Here and I thought he was a nice man. I thought about offering him something to drink on those hot days we’d been having. Good thing I didn’t do that. He get up here where he could look into the house and see what we got. You just never know about people these days. He seemed like such a nice man for someone that couldn’t ride a bike all that well.

Would you like me to get your old bicycle out of the garage and oil her up in case you get that job delivering papers?”

“What? Sorry dear, I was thinking about what to get you for your next birthday.”