Mail Privilege

Who loses when the United States Post Office closes up shop for good? Is it the troubled dog chewing his problems away on the femur of a terrified mailman? Or the little kid, a veritable Johnny-come-philately, inexplicably collecting stamps in the digital age? Is it Hermes, with his satchel and winged sandals, who’d suddenly have nowhere to fly?  Is it the lonely hermit residing deep in the woods, whose only contact with the outside world is through intricately constructed care packages? No, it’s all of us.  

You rarely envision the importance of the mail. But it’s quite the sanity maintainer, ain’t it? Mail gives us joy, while email gives us anxiety. Every single person with a P.O. box or mail slot would be incalculably poorer should the postal service cease production. FedEx isn't the answer. What gives them the right to wear purple - the color of royalty in a republic? 

The mail is more than junk, much more than catalogues and glossy promotions. It’s a connection to the outside world – a reason to get up and open the door in the morning. You can check your email on your phone – in the bathroom, in your bed, wherever. But getting the mail is exercise. It's a religious ritual that dates back to the days of Stampin' Sammy Osgood, the first postmaster general of these United States.

 

Society fetishizes Kringle and his coterie of crafty compact carpenters, constantly contravening copyright laws contenting Christmas customers country-to-country. But what is Santa Claus if not a would-be mailman who works just one day a year? He’s celebrated like the second coming, while real mailmen who don’t have the ability to fly above the snow. They must trudge through it, sans reindeer and sleigh, delivering packages without any holiday fanfare. Instead they’re out there battling black ice in an unsightly truck with the steering wheel on the wrong side. They have no elves to assist either, but the occasional gnome to twist their ankle.

 

Do we need the mail? Maybe not. But we’d sure miss it. There’s nothing like a bursting mailbox to get that daily dopamine rush. Try writing a postcard sometime. They'll be confused at first, but grateful down the road - after they've properly disinfected the card and sealed it off for a minimum of 14 days. 

Stamp on.