The Postman Always Zings Twice
Yesterday I dropped by a branch office of the U.S. Postal Service near my workplace to dispatch a few parcels and pick up stamps. I was assisted in these efforts by a mustachioed, wispy haired, rapidly balding postal employee who appeared to be in his late forties, early fifties. He was helpful and polite in taking care of the packages that I was sending. When I requested for a book of stamps, he asked if American flags were okay. I nodded and then he said,
"That's a good idea. You wouldn't want the neighbors to see you sending mail without a flag and get you in trouble with John Ashcroft."
I hate situations like this. All I wanted to do is buy some stamps and be on my way. Small talk was not on my agenda, especially political small talk. Business transactions and political conversation should not be intermingled.
Not knowing how to respond, I fell back on the tried and true nervous laughter. Of course I didn't think what he said was in the least bit funny, but I felt a societal obligation to fill the void with something. Anything. And so a quick chuckle it was.
Unfortunately, this was interpreted by the postal employee as a sign that I was on his side. We were now kindred spirits, joined in our disgust for the administration and everything it stood for. He decided to take it up a notch.
"Do you know who John Dean is?"
Oh no. I knew where this one was going. But now I was trapped like a stray Cheeto in one of Michael Moore's stomach folds. There was no escape.
"John Dean of Watergate fame?", I reluctantly replied.
"Yes. He's got a book a book out now. Called...", he paused and scanned his hard drive. Searching. Searching.
Too stupid to just play dumb I helped him out with the title,"Worse Than Watergate."
"Yeah that's it."
I was already in so deep I figured a couple more shovelfuls of dirt couldn't hurt. So I asked him if he had read Dean's tome.
"No, not yet. But I understand that he says that there are eleven scandals brewing in the Bush Administration right now that are all worse than Watergate."
A lame, "Really?" was all I could manage in response. What was I supposed to say? That John Dean is an opportunistic shill, willing to say anything to sell a book, and that he probably knows about as much about the inner workings of the Bush administration as Maureen Dowd? If there's one thing I've learned over the years, it's that you don't want to make a postal employee mad.
By this time I had paid for my stamps, pocketed my change, and was looking for a way to end this conversation and get out the door. I tried a new tactic by suggesting that the Watergate break in itself wasn't all that bad, that it was the cover up that really got Nixon in trouble. I know it's a trite, clichéd view, but I was desperate and willing to try anything to reach an end game. And my change in direction threw him momentarily off balance.
"Well...I don't know. Paying someone to break into an office isn't a good thing," he stammered.
This was my opening. I made my break for daylight.
"Yeah, maybe you're right," I admitted as I shut the conversational tap, gracefully pirouetted, and bolted for the door.
The next time I hit the PO I'm wearing a Bush button. The service I receive might be lazy and surly, but it's better than having to pretend that I'm down with the Bush bashing crowd.
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