It was a long, long time ago….I mean–no, no, no…once upon a time, which is true for most things I suppose….the other day, many things happened. Yes, um, indeed, occurred. Allow for some moment for some introductions, yes, indeed explanations. I am Plythe, Laymond Plythe, the mailman. I have served thus for three years;so as you may understand I have had quite a lot of experience with my job, I mean, after three years, yes, indeed, a lot of time.
That is why, of course, it came as a surprise when I was not entirely prepared for what came towards me.
Well, I was going about my own business, yes indeed, not anything unusual, driving my car about on my route, delivering the mail. All the way around doing everything normal. First I went to the Petterson’s, then I did the next house down, Waldo’s, and so on down the street. I had gone for five blocks and reached the end of my section. So I turned about and set back the way I had first come. I went passed the Petterson’s, the Waldo’s, but when I reached the Emersen’s at the end, I noticed something mighty peculiar. Mrs. Petterson was looking in the Waldo’s mailbox!
“Goodness me!” I thought, “Whatever is she doing looking in the Waldo’s mailbox; Mr. and Mrs. Waldo would certainly not be pleased!”
I felt responsible for the Waldo’s privacy so, like the faithful mailman I am, I turned around. Yes, indeed, decided to go back and inspect the whole matter.
I watched with frank astonishment as Mrs. Petterson not only had looked in the Waldo’s mailbox but had taken their mail out and plopped part of it in a knapsack and was now looking in the Hiltlincher’s mailbox! Coming forward, I rolled down my window. I lacked words, but that certainly had never stopped me before.
“Lady, look here, I say!”
“Ohh….ohh! deary me, who–who are you please?”
“You–I–Lady, I don’t think you’re supposed to do that.” I gestured to the mailbox.
“Oh, I do it quite frequently.” She seemed to find this suitable and continued sorting through the mailbox.
There was an awkward silence, all silent save the sound of shuffling papers. Then the lady moved on…to the next mailbox! Yes, indeed, the next personal communication system.
Having orders not to leave my car, I simply drove forward to the box she was raiding.
“Lady, Ma’am, that’s illegal, what you’re doing. I must ask you to replace the mail and promise never to do it again or I’ll call the police.”
The lady turned to me and said,” I’m sorry, did you say something? You’re a policeman?”
“I’m the mailman!”
“Of course, I should have known you!”
“Ma’am you can’t do that.”
“Do what please?”
“Take other people’s mail!”
“Oh, yes I can.”
“But it’s not yours; it’s personal, privileged information.”
“Oh, they don’t mind.”
By this time I wished I had never come. This was a matter for the police, not me, Laymond Plythe.
“Sir,” the lady asked,”why are you following me?”
“Will you just please go back home Mrs. Petterson?”
“Certainly, of course.”
With that she swept away to her house and through the door, muttering about how people never let anyone have any privacy these days.
And so I left, yes, indeed, I departed. And I assure you that after that encounter I always took a different route home.
The story above is purely fictional, and all of its characters came from my imagination.