Ode to a Mailbox
Have you ever thought about rural mailboxes that line the highways and side roads?
You all know the saying about mail carriers, how they deliver in all kinds of weather and all kinds of conditions: “Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds.” But have you ever thought about rural mailboxes that line the highways and side roads? We too are out in all kinds of weather, at all times of day and night, yet we get little recognition.
I am the Smith’s mailbox. I stand across the road from their driveway. I’m the large gray box (believe me they need extra space for all the catalogs they get—especially at Christmas time). Next to me stands the neighbor’s smaller, shorter black box. Our job is to stand there and patiently wait all day for the moment when the rural carrier drives up, opens our doors, and places the mail inside before shutting us back up and driving off again. We stand here all day—whether it is sunny or raining or snowing; be it hot or cold—you can find us standing there.
Our job may look easy, but it isn’t. In fact, it can be downright dangerous. First, you should know that I am not their first mailbox—I am their fourth mailbox over the ten years that they have lived here. No such thing as job security in this business. What happened to my predecessors? As far as I can tell one was replaced because it was deemed too small (remember all those catalogs) while another was too large, meaning it did not fall within the Postal Services’ required dimensions. Rumor has it the Smiths were so pleased with this mailbox that they have it hidden away in their closet—a kind of memorial.
The fates of the other two are a bit more tragic. Two of them were hit and fatally damaged. This usually happens during or after a snowfall and involves a large snow plough traveling along at highspeed. In fact, this has happened to me-several times. I’m standing at my post, minding my own busines, when WHAM! Unlike two earlier boxes which were beyond repair—their doors torn off and their bodies completely flattened, I survived it—not once but several times. So far, they have been able to repair the door, and although my door remains slightly bent, I am still closable. Aside from a few dents I am in a fairly good condition. So far, I have weathered the weather.
I ask that when you say that motto about the mail carriers, that you remember us mailboxes—that we are truly fearless and tireless workers.