Post Office Factotum

I’d read some of Bukowski’s work prior to my job in the sorting office … sic … it was xmas nineteensomethingorother and I was charged with sorting out parcels in Dixon’s Blazes. The name of the game was smashing up the mail. “Chuck it into the bags, who cares where the stuff’s meant for.”
red post box_edited-1

The children? “Smash the toys.”

During the night shift some drunks drove a red Queen painted Post Office van through the sorting office doors and got fired. Who cared.

The scum was there. One guy had even been fired last year for sticking it in big time. He had met the supervisor in the canteen and beat him with a loaded mail bag. You just never know who you’re associating with. They took him on again. Unbelievable.

Anyway, in about nineteensomethingorother, we felt privileged to be looking after the Royal Mail despite the obvious blemishes.

“You got any mail for me?”

“How the F… ck should I know … I’m only the mailman.”

“You got any mail for me?”

“How the F… ck should I know … I’m only the mailman.”

“You got any mail for me?”

“Who the F…ck are you and why should I even care?”

“You got any mail for me?”

Bukowski throws you over the place. After all, he’s dead and even when he wasn’t he didn’t give a shit.

Apoligies to Post Office Workers everywhere …

About Grumpy Jack

Writer and photographer
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