Weekend Freewrite 2/24/2018 The Mailman

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I had this system for getting exactly what I wanted out of people. It was food. All kinds of delicious food. When I would meet someone for the first time, I wouldn’t ask them what they did for a living, or what their sign was; I asked what kind of food they liked. Then when I needed a favor I would show up at their door with their favorite dish.

This worked well I must say. Every time I need someone to help clean up the yard, I would make a batch of cookies and then open the window. The young boys from down the street would smell the cookies while they were playing kick ball. They would come to my fence and ask if they could have some. That was the perfect time to barter food for chores.

When the neighbors realized I made candy, they would ask me to make them candy for their gifts during the holidays. I could ask for favors, or even items if I wanted because I made the candy they loved. I once even got a new living room set from a lady who wanted the candy for her daughter’s wedding. I made church bells with their initials on it. I wouldn’t accept money, because I never do, and the next thing you know, the furniture truck was outside my house.

It really was the perfect system.

The man who delivered the mail was not the nicest of people. To be truthful, he was skating on thin ice - that's all I can say. He made certain to ignore my delicious meals I offered him during the week. I would see him walking up the street and I would wave; being as friendly as I could be, but he gave me a grumpy look and then looked away.

I asked him a few times to please leave my packages on my porch because I can’t always get to the mailbox on the street right away, and when it rains the packages get wet. Most of these deliveries are ingredients for recipes that I can not find in the local stores. The last time it rained, the package of fresh sugar wafers was ruined out at the curb.

Since my porch is covered, it would make more sense to leave the packages there. And in my opinion, any other mail carrier would take the time and use the extra effort to be sure the packages came to no harm or destruction. Oh, but not this mailman. He was grumpy. He was rude. And he was making me mad.

I was still trying to figure out my problem with the mailman the day Sheila brought Hilary to my office. Sheila was my friend from high school, and she and I had been inseparable since then. I had never met Hilary, so I was a bit confused when Sheila said she was the answer to my prayers. But after speaking with her I knew she was going to get a special cake or something from me for the information she volunteered.

I waited at the mailbox with a cardboard box wrapped with a bow in my hands. When the mailman walked up to me, he barely looked my way.

“Charlie?” I asked, knowing that was his name.

He looked up at me confused. “How do you know my name?”

“I met your wife Hilary. She told me you have food allergies. I didn’t know this. I always wondered why you wouldn’t accept the food I made for you, but now I know you are allergic to almost everything, so therefore food brings you little joy. But I have found a recipe that you can eat. A special recipe I found with apples and honey. Two things I know you like, and are not allergic to.”

His eyes lit up and he took the box, “Thank you!” he said, and then looked inside. For the first time I saw him smile. “I’m sorry I have been leaving your packages in the rain. I’ll be sure to carry them to your porch from now on. Thank you for the treat.”

I smiled as he walked away, but not because I had gotten what I wanted, but because I knew he had something good to eat.

The End

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