Saturday, August 3, 2013

Not Quite Capture The Flag

We have a new game in Hillmomba. It is called, "Stalking the Mailman." That is not some crazy euphemism for inappropriate shenanigans. Though the mailman probably wishes it was.

Here's how it works. Around time for the mail to be put into our row of boxes on the blacktop county road, the #1 son drives down to park by the creek and wait. He might as well be a private investigator. A big-game hunter. A lone waiter for Godot. This week alone, he has spent three days and five hours sitting in a truck down by the creek. Just one step above living in a van down by the river.

Since our post offices restructured, packages are sent out on the route, no matter whether they will fit in the box, or whether a package quite possibly contains a crated elephant. The rural carrier hauls it around, then puts the orange postcard in the box and returns the item to the main hub post office. It used to be that you could pick up such a package at your own post office after 3:00 the same day. Now, you can't get it until the NEXT day. Unless you rush to the main hub around 5:00, right before closing, and beg for it.

The #1 son has places to go and people to see. So he sits. When the carrier pulls up and starts filling the boxes, #1 runs over to inquire about his package. It's not random. He tracks it online. When it says, "Out for delivery," he knows to stalk the postman. Therein lies the problem.

Usually, our mail arrives between 11:00 and noon. However, I caught the postman leaving it at 10:00 one day. So #1 sets up surveillance at 10:00. Twice this week, the postman did not arrive until nearly noon. On Saturdays, he comes sooner. Except today. I was supposed to take a shift, but Farmer H called me stupid and rescinded the orders given by #1 at 11:30 last night. Then he went off to wait for it himself. Just to curry favor with his BFF #1, I'm sure.

Anyhoo, #1 reported that the first day, the postman was quite rude to him. Hmm...he was really nice to me that one day I sidled up to his door and asked if, perhaps, he had a package for #1 Hillbilly. The problem with #1 is that he doesn't believe the internet is wrong. So when told that he did not have a package, he probably showed slight displeasure. I advised him to explain that he didn't mean to be a bother, but that he was going off to college, and wanted to make sure he had all of his stuff packed in time.

"Stalking the Mailman" has grown more difficult with the usage of our county road as a major detour. One can't stand beside the mailman's Jeep Cherokee waiting for the package, but must instead go around to the woods side in a pile of riprap put there after the last flood washed out part of the road. Such a stance looks a bit sinister, especially to a federal employee trapped inside a car.

Alas, poor #1's days of playing "Stalking the Mailman" will soon be over. I weep for him.


Sioux said...

Riprap? Is that a Hillbilly term? Or is it one tailor-made by you?

Hillbilly Mom said...

Dam, dam, dam! That's not the classic line from Florida Evans when she found out James was dead and her Good Times were about to become Mediocre Times.

Riprap is the giant chunk rock that is used along the edges of dams and places where you don't want the land being washed away by water.