Postal workers, that is. They know more about us than we give them credit for. The discreet packing on that box of embarrassment you ordered. They know. Do they chuckle as they deliver that obvious overdraft notice, or feel pity? Or do they filter their response to account for the residence? Maybe they only chuckle when it’s a yuppie’s house. I’d like to give them the benefit of the doubt in that regard.
Sure there are some virtuous postal delivery folks who probably find ease in keeping a personal credo of just putting it all out of their minds. Everyone’s got dirt, no need to judge. Others still who simply don’t care. It’s a job, and they aren’t interested in your small chunk of humanity as much as the cancer diagnosis delivered to their brother or sister that week. And as they deliver they might worry about what kind of terrible news they themselves are delivering. This letter from an attorney… divorce papers? A frivolant lawsuit?
But then they also see your nude magazine subscriptions, membership letters and newsletters to cults and subculture organizations…
Rain, sleet, or snow, they will see what it is you don’t generally want anyone one else to.
