The Mailman Knoweth


Our mail carriers are under rated. Day in and day out, (with the exception of Sunday) they are there for us. They make sure our bills, junk mail and the occasional “good” news cards and letters are delivered to our mailboxes. And, yet, these kind gestures are all too expected and rarely appreciated. Well, I am writing this to say that, “I appreciate you Vincent!”

Vincent is our mailman. He is an outgoing gentleman in his mid 40’s. His intelligence matches his athleticism. His brawn matches his beauty. He’s a true mench. He knows Pacific Beach like the back of his tattooed neck. On Sundays, you can find Vincent picking up a scrap game of Stick Ball. An obscure sport brought and played here by true New Englanders. Vincent is observant. He can judge a person by the mail that they receive. Did you know that something as simple as a mail order catalog can speak volumes of the addressee?

Which begs the question: What does your mail say about you?

Vincent only became aware of my moving in with my twin sister when my mail began showing up in his mailbag. He wanted to make sure that my mail found its rightful place. More importantly, he wanted to know who I was. You see, he is very protective of my sister-and now of me.

A few months ago, Vincent knocked on our door and asked why Marie, our neighbor, wasn’t picking up her mail. “Does she still live here or is she lacking a mailbox key?” He was concerned about her overstuffed mailbox and was considering putting in a “Do Not Deliver” request form at the post office. “Not sure, but we will find out what the deal is”, my sister replied. Marie, eventually, started picking up her mail regularly. He had the same concern for the twin girls who moved out a few months ago. They were simply beautiful blonde hair, blue-eyed girls with matching figures to die for. Clueless, though. The regiment of bar hopping and sun tanning held no flame to their concerns of picking up their mail on a weekly basis. After all, they were the gleam of their daddy’s eye. Daddy paid all of their bills as long as they promised to behave themselves. He even bought them matching Volkswagen Jettas-presents for graduating from college on time. Vincent possessed a keen idea of what excited the twins by the catalogs that they received. His observation resonated throughout his route.

In the age of Facebook, MySpace and Twitter, traditional mail has become passé. Gone are the days when the mailman (or mailwoman) was able to entertain themselves, during lunch, by reading a postcard from a vacationing family member or loved one. Vincent is fast on his feet. Often, I manage to run into him, either on his mail route or at the local Mexican restaurant. His demeanor is indicative of his infatuation for the rather plump and cheerful waitress. Is this a regular delivery or a mail stop with benefits? I wonder.

(Addendum: While taking a break from writing this entry my twin sister and I decided to drive to KFC and saw Vincent. Sis was peeved because she didn’t have her camera to take a photo of him for this entry. We offered him a breast of crispy fried chicken and a biscuit-complete with butter and honey. Humbly, he accepted our offerings and thanked us profusely. What a cool-ass dude!)

If you’d like to keep up with Vincent and his Stickball team (The “Whompers”) visit:


~ by adhna on August 26, 2009.

2 Responses to “The Mailman Knoweth”

  1. Great article. Could you tell Vincent where I live. Just kiddin’. I know the post office is going through the stress of the economy. I hope that this doesn’t effect the attitudes and kind consideration of the hard work that the mail services does for us all!

  2. finding it hard to put into words
    my twin friends

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