A Hero Faces His Case
I led a secret life for 30 years. I was a Postal worker. I’m only telling you because I know you’re a good person. You have an honest face. Worse I was a Postal Hero.
I loved the Post Office. It was such a deliciously crude place to work. The most outrageous, cynical, debased personnel relationships were routinely nurtured there. The kind of talk that would make Trump blanche.
“Your mother wears combat boots” would have been mild. If you worked hard you were a “runner.” If you were lazy you were a “slacker.” My favorite expression there was “face your case.” A “case” was the string of slots into which you placed letters. You needed to face it to sort the mail.
Telling someone to “face your case” was tantamount to “shut up.”
One day I went slightly out of my way to get a business an Express piece. I don’t know what got into me. The businesswoman sent an email to the district office. I ended up with a letter of commendation. I was soundly denounced as a “hero.”
I just loved how my coworkers routinely trashed each other. It was so much fun.