Wednesday, December 17, 2014

EmBee Is NOT A Thanksgiving Turkey, You Know

Last week, an amazing structure was erected beside our mailbox row. At first I thought maybe it had something to do with utilities. Aftet all, the area where it grew had been marked with wires tipped with orange flags for several days prior. I don’t know the utility secret codes. Maybe a gas line needed digging up. Perhaps the phone lines were about to go underground. In either case, I could imagine a catastrophe, what with the creek backing up in that area during torrential rains.

Once the metal monument was complete, I could see that it contained four lock boxes. Aha! Something most likely having to do with the post office. The Pony and I went round and round, speculating.

“There are only four boxes. I wonder if they are for rent?”

“Then mail wouldn’t get stolen. And people don’t have to drive to town to a post office box.”

“Yeah. But what if more than four people want them? Will they build more? Is it first come, first served?”

“Maybe it’s to put in packages that are too big for the mailboxes.”

“How would people get them out? Only four boxes. But we have a dozen mailboxes. What about the keys? Does everybody get one?”

“Would one key fit all boxes?”

“What would keep somebody from checking them all and taking your packages?”

“Well, at least we would know it’s one of the people who live out here.”

We were not quite certain how this newfangled contraption might work. But we found out soon enough on Monday.

“Hey! There’s a key in our mail. I’m going to check that box.” The Pony put the key in the lock of the top right box and turned. It opened. And gave us a package with my name on it. “Huh. The key won’t come out. It stays turned. I guess now we know. The post office will have to open it to get their key back.”

“What’s to keep someone from opening all the mailboxes to see if there’s a key, and then taking the packages?”

“Don’t know.”

“At least they’re not in plain sight on top of the mailboxes. And we don’t have to wait until after noon the next day and drive to town for it.”

“Yeah. Unless the package is too big for the box.” Not perfect. But a definite improvement.

Now Embee won't be subjected to having her body cavity crammed full of cardboard.


Sioux said...

You folks are gettin' such newfangled doo-dads. Next thing you know, Farmer H will be riding around the estate in a Segway (Segue?).

Kathy's Klothesline said...

Wonder how long it took several committees to come up with that?

Hillbilly Mom said...

We are regular Jetsons! I want my maid Rosie! Farmer H almost invented the Segway, you know. Only he called it a stand-up wheelchair for people who should be able to look folks in the eye.

I'm guessing they were delirious from the dead-mouse scent.