I go for my mail on Fridays after lunch. Usually there is not too much of a line at the post office. I get up to the counter.

“Hey, how you doing?”

“Oh, not too bad.”

“I’m looking for my mail, please.”

Sometimes whoever’s at the counter needs to be reminded of my address, but often, not. They often make a small comment on the nature of the contents. Today’s was:

“You’re not doing any better than Bob today, dear. Nothing but flyers.”

(Bob was the fellow just ahead of me in line.)

“Ahh, that’s all right. Thanks a lot. Have a good weekend.”

“Thanks, you too.”

Getting the mail is not at all a chore. It is a relaxing break in my day, and it is often quite social, as it’s rare to go downtown without seeing someone I know. I’ve deliberately never asked for a key so that I can retrieve my own mail in the room full of boxes, because it’s way more fun to ask for it at the counter. I guess I just love doing things the way they were done a hundred years ago.