Guy Who Cares About How I Look


It was really warm today. So warm that I could take my mailman jacket off and still work up a sweat walking around like that. A lot of people were outside, enjoying the sun.

There was a guy smoking on his steps. A bundle of letters nestled in my arms, a few letters of his inbetween the fingers of my right hand, the guy cocked his head and squinted at me as I approached. I held his mail out for him. Looking down on me from the steps he stood upon, he blew smoke out and said, “Who are you?”

“I’m the mailman.”

“You? The mailman?” He gave me a quick once-over like he couldn’t believe it and made a silent fart noise with his lips. “Pffffft.”

Excuse me? Is there a problem? Are you actually upset that I’m not wearing the mailman shirt or jacket? These baggy, navy-blue cargo pants and Canada Post hat isn’t humiliating enough for you? Or do you actually not understand or believe that I am a mailman? What about the fucking armfuls of mail I’m carrying?

“You don’t exactly look like one.” He says as he finally takes the letters from my hand.

“I’m sorry.”

For the rest of the day I angrily make “Pffffft” noises with my lips. Pffffffffft.




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