Mike The Mailman RIP

It's Thursday afternoon. I've been working away in my edit bay all day. In dyer need of some fresh air I head out of my office and towards the elevator. En route I cross paths with a very depressed looking mail man. His shoulders slouch, his brow drips sweat and he pushes his wire frame glasses up the ridge of his nose with his middle finger. We reach the elevator at the same time. I ask him how he’s doing. 

“I’m lost.” he responds. 

“Lost? Where are you trying to go?” I ask. 

“Just everywhere.” He says. 

“Well, I’m new here but maybe I can help.” I say as I push the button to call the elevator. 

He ignores my offer “I’m on this new route and I hate it. I liked my old route better.” 

“Ah, I’m sorry man. Where was you old route?” 

“Over by where they have the haunted house. It was way better.” 

I have no idea where the haunted house is, but I nod my head as if I do. DING. The elevator arrives and the doors open. We enter. 

“Well if you liked that route so much why did you take this one?” I ask. 

The doors close and he replies.

“the last guy who was on this route died. So they asked me to take it.” 

My jaw drops. I freeze for a moment. A bit caught off guard I respond.

“Oh man Im sorry. Did you know him?” 

“Yeah..” 

A silence falls over the small tin box. The downward trajectory of the elevator directly reflects the trajectory of the conversation. And just as gravity pulls the elevator closer to floor level I continue to pull the conversation in the same direction. The awkward silence was too much for me to handle and all I could think to do was make a joke. I quickly jumped into character. A conspiracy theorist hell bent on exposing the capitalist system thats been exploiting the common American man for nearly a two centuries.

With wide eyes and a Captain Jack Sparrow demeanor I utter “What if it was this route that killed the last guy!?” 

DING. The elevator reaches the ground floor along with any hope of me recovering from that comment.  

The mail man looks up at me and says “Yeah… OSHA’s investigating it right now.”

The doors open and the mail man starts walking out of the elevator. I'm partially frozen in my place. I do manage to follow him out as I apologize. 

“I’m sorry man! I had no idea.” 

“Yeah. He had been complaining about the route for months… About how it was so much waking and how the heat was getting to him… A few weeks ago he passed out, but no one did anything about it and then a couple days ago he died from heart failure! And now I’m on this route and I’m walking all over, and I see what he was saying! It’s  lot of walking! And all I can think while I’m out here sweating my ass off is; THOSE GUYS KILLED MIKE!” 

Still unsure how to help this poor guy I ask him agin if he needs any help with directions. He responds apathetically “No. I’ll be fine.” 

“Are you sure man?” 

“Yeah.” 

By this time we've made it outside. 

I tell him to stay hydrated.

As if that’s not the most obvious advice ever.

He climbs into his mail truck and sits there for a minute before driving away.

I walk across the street to get a cup of coffee. 

I pour a little out. 

For Mike. 

The Mail Man. 

R.I.P.