I was in my driveway when the mailman drove up.
“Hey, how are you doing?”
“Good, Mr. Higgins. How are you?”
“Great.”
He shuffled through a container for my mail.
“Let me ask you, how do you like driving with the steering wheel on that side of the truck?”
He smiled. “It’s fine. You get used to it.”
“I guess…” I looked at the steering wheel for a moment and then him. “Be honest, do you ever imagine you’re in London while you’re driving around? I would.”
“Um, no. Never.”
“You know what? You should talk with an English accent while you’re in this truck! That’d be awesome.”
His smile weakened a little. “I don’t have many conversations while I’m at work.”
“You’re having one now with me…”
“Am I?”
It got awkwardly quiet while he went through the magazines.
“This shutdown is something, right? Were you worried about losing your job?”
“No. I think the post office is safe. Mail has to get delivered, you know.” He said that into the magazine bin.
“I suppose. But you never know.”
“No, Mr. Higgins, you never know, ” he answered handing me my mail.
“I guess you could always work from home,” I said as I took my letters.
“I deliver mail. That’d be impossible.”
“Would it?” I leaned against my mailbox. “I’ve been thinking about this. What if you brought the mail home and called people – with their permission, of course.”
His smile was almost completely gone. “What?”
“Hear me out; you can call me at home with my mail. Like, ‘Hey, Mr. Higgins, you owe $320 for your electric bill; you got a card from your sister, and you’re due for a dental check-up. Would you like me to read you your Pennysaver?…”
There wasn’t even a trace of a smile. “I have to go finish my route.”
“…you wouldn’t be ‘’delivering’’ the mail ( I did that finger-quote marks thing again), but you’d be getting around the government shutdown.”
He shook his head and put his truck in gear. “So long Mr. Higgins.”
“You should say pip pip cheerio, old chap… with an English accent!” I called out to him.
He just kept driving.