Without consulting me, the United States Postal Service removed the corner mailbox, leaving only the pad. The joy of sealing up an envelope has always been enhanced by that of walking to the nearby mailbox, the banging of the steel door signifying completion of the act.
I’d call the postmaster general to complain, but I can’t find a phone booth. (Someone tells me they’re still common in Canada.)
Somehow, I don’t suppose representatives of the post office will be around anytime soon to break up the concrete and plant a patch of flowers.
The post office seems to be in a downward spiral. It’s as if Murphy’s law and Moore’s law have combined: Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong, the effects doubling at regular intervals.
Even I pay the phone bill by using a smartphone app.
As fewer people buy stamps and send mail, the post office receives less revenue and therefore must reduce service. The giant octopus retracts its tentacles.
First-class mail is now taking longer to process and deliver. Low-class mail might end up in the landfill.
I’m also told the removal of corner mailboxes is a trend; in fact, one blogger commented on this years ago.
Now I wish I’d taken a photo of my corner mailbox before its removal. From standing so long in the desert sun, it had turned a powder blue color, rough to the touch.
A virtue of the convenient corner mailbox is how not only the envelope but also the deal is sealed when a letter is sent, even if it shouldn’t be. I recently wrote an uncle, asking why, whenever he puts his savior hat on, he feels the need to focus on me.
Had I been required to drive to the post office that evening, I would’ve probably reconsidered the whole proposition, and my uncle wouldn’t have been chafed.
No corner mailbox? No family feud.