When last we heard of Michael Mouse, mild-mannered letter carrier who, as MAILMAN, zips through the sidewalks and streets of Chicagoland's Southwest suburbs, looking for ways to stamp out injustice and delivery goodness, he had just punched in for another fulfilling day at the Post Office.
"Martin Mouse, report to the supervisor's office." blared a deep voice over the intercom.
And bring a donut," it added.
"Make it a Chocolate."
"That's Michael, sir," I said, as I rushed into the office, holding the donut out to the imposing bulk sitting behind the desk..
"Whatever. Where's the other one?" he demanded.
"You only asked for one." I answered.
"THINK, Marvin. God gave you two hands, didn't he?"
"Obviously he forgot to give me a brain, sir." I cleverly retorted in self-defense.
"Are you getting smart with me, Mark."
"One of us has to, sir."
"Da** right, Manny. Anyway, go see Supervisor Suzanne and ask her for your special assignment."
So, I go face my arch-nemisis, Supervisor Suzanne.
"Mouse, I got a priory letter for you to deliver.
Corner of First street and North. Take Third to Second then turn South on North and go to West, then turn left to East and East on West till you get to First. Go South to North and you'll be right there.
Keep moving. You already used up your break standing around listening to me.. And stay out of my section."
"Yes ma'am sir." I reply.
(My Daddy always told me never to argue with an idiot. Or a woman. Saved myself a lot of useless energy that way.)
So, I get into my LLV.
That's one of those white mail vans with the enclosed back cargo section.
I like to think of it as my own MAILTRUCK.
And there in the back is my own private MAILCAVE.
I get to my destination, priory letter one hand.
Scanner in the other.
And drive up to the best built mailbox I had ever seen.
I doubt that an aluminum bat in Barry Bonds' hands could dent it.
I doubt that a a brick of firecrackers could even blister the paint.
This thing is immovable.
"Incredible", I mummer in awe.
And I reverently deposit the letter.
And NOTICE a little fledgling bird quiveriing in fear at the base of the box.
"Time for MAILMAN" I think to myself.
So I enter the MAILCAVE, and put on my MAILMAN costume.
Thick vinyl postal rain cape.
Dual postal pouch utility belt.
Postal Pith Helmet.
Red Clown nose.? (The last item recently added to protect my secret identity.)
I work myself from the MAILCAVE to the front of the truck,
careful not to tip over the pee bottle.
(Now you know why these trucks are sometimes irreverently called PPP's - Portable Postal Potties.)
(Hey, every Cave's gotta have a John.)
Leaning out through the truck window to check on the frightened bird
my nose comes off, and drops to the floor of the footwell.
Head still out the window, I reach down to pick up the nose.
And realize my head is now stuck between the bottom lip of the truck window and the bottom of the mailbox.
"Hep!" I say, in a yell muted by the constricted throat.
Five minutes later, "Hep!? Hep!"?
I try using the Postal Emergency Signal Equipment.
Ten minutes later, the elderly couple that own the mailbox drive up, on their way home from morning Mass.
"Hep Hep Hep"
"Lookit, Martha.? I think it's MAILMAN"
"What's he doing like that, George?"
"I Dunno. Maybe some new kind of delivery system."
"I think he needs help, George."
"You're right, Martha. Sounds like he's using Morse Code"
"Let's see if I remember Code, Martha.. Beep-Beep-Hep-Beep-Beep-Hep-Hep-BEEP!"
"Martha, let's get out of here. I think he just said 'Stick it up you nose'!"
Well, it looks like MAILMAN has really caught his zip this time.
And, another thing, did he remember to put the cap on the bottle?
Tune in next time for further adventures of MAILMAN.
Just for your information....that is a regulation POSTAL pee bottle in the PPP. And I guess we'll never know what happened to that poor, poor, pitiful pigeon.
Tune in to the next episode, when our inept superhero meets Miss Diane Dalley, darling of the daily delivery service.