The Mail

Extra Extra: Gregera Kicks Ass

I’m not sure how much a mailperson makes but my dream job would be a mailman living in Florida. It would be awesome just walking around in nice weather, waving to friendly old people as you pass by and listening to Tina Turner on my Ipod. “You’re my private dancer…”

I already walk around my town anyway. It’s fun. People spot me all of the time all over my city of Sarnia. Like I’m Waldo. And they wonder what I do or go exactly. Well I have missions. Yesterday my mission was to get stoned, go to Taco Bell and check out movies at the new movie store.

Today my mission was to get a new drivers license and health card. I must have picked the best possible time to go because my number was up next and it took me a whole three minutes to wait. And I didn’t realize that they do both at the same time.

My signature was God awful and I went over the box. It’s just that I don’t write anymore and I have become used to using the computer. And I have become completely dependent on spell check.  I just hope my picture isn’t as ugly as my former picture. And I wasn’t allowed to smile.

Anyway, I would prefer to go for jogs but I’m only 31 years young and have already fucked up my knees from various reasons. Mainly because I lifted too much weight at the gym. So be careful. Tomorrow my mission might me to go to the dollar store or defeat the manicore in his lair on Mitton Street.

But I’m getting sick of my city. I loved living in London because there’s more to do, places to go and bars to get my drink on. And more shopping. Yes, I’m very metro. If it wasn’t for my family I would move to bigger city. Like L.A. and become an actor. I just don’t know anything about immigration laws and such.

If I could get my mom’s car, I would love to drive to Toronto in nice weather, maybe to see my college roommate and friends and go on an adventure all over the place. Like going to Little China and buying whale teeth and pirated movies and video games on the black market. I just hope I don’t wake up in some alley with one of my kidneys removed. I’m saving it to sell so I have enough money to buy a karaoke machine.

I used to be an excellent paperboy so I know my stuff. I delivered for the Sarnia Observer. I joined the paperperson career a little too late. Most paperboys are usually in grade five or so. I became one in grade nine. Yes, I was a high school paperboy up until grade eleven.  

I used to play the Paperboy on the Nintendo. Who would have thought that a game where you deliver newspapers would be so much fun? I don’t think Garbage Man or Milkman would be as good. So you toss papers at people’s homes and avoid bees and drunks.

Imagine you could do that in real life where you don’t give a shit if you smash people’s windows. I also wonder why someone would get their dog to retrieve the paper when it gets slob all over it. It’s a few feet, get it yourself lazy.

Anyway, people liked me because I was polite and delivered on time. Even on Saturday mornings. The former paperboy wasn’t quite so. For example one household had paid him months in advance even though you’re not supposed to do that. So he quits and got away with like a $50. The Observer compensated.

I wish I had the job earlier because that three bucks a day would go a long way as a kid. At the time my allowance was pretty much three bucks a week and I got only five bucks for mowing the lawn. I would buy stuff such as trading cards, cheap video games, candy and ministicks to name a few. Now I get $50 a week for doing next to nothing.

I had the perfect route. I delivered to all of my neighbors, and my own parents, around a loop. It took me only like ten minutes and I listened to my handheld cassette player. I had a couple of mixed tapes, some that I recorded off the radio. “Yes, it’s the Abercrombie and Fitch song! I better hurry up.”

All my neighbors were friendly and gave me good tips. Except for one dick who didn’t like me cutting across his lawn. Yes, his precious lawn. Its not like I’m ruining it or anything. After all he has to cut it. “You better stay the fuck off my lawn. I just got it fertilized asshole.”

However I broke my leg playing hockey and had a cast on for five long months. The good part of it was that I actually had worker insurance. So my friend covered for me and I got free money. The bad part was the cast was itchy as fuck.

The Observer has a few sections. It used to come with its own TV guide. It came in handy by knowing what the week had in store. So I could find out the time of any movies or shows. “What’s this? Judge Dread is on Friday at 8:00pm. I better keep my Friday night open. And a Golden Girls marathon! Fucking eh.”

The entertainment section is entertaining but I rather just go online and catch up on my gossip. And I don’t like the Observer’s critics and their reviews. They will give a movie like Anchorman 2 two stars. Sure it wasn’t as good as the first one and was a little racist, but it was far better than the other choices. And my friend Kevin called me Brick.

I don’t know why, but my mom regularly checks the obituaries. So you find out who croaked. When I die, I want a full front page dedicated to me, of me riding a unicorn. You also see birthdays and special occasions. Like when some old dude lived to be over a century, some ugly people get married or when Kevin became a doctor. And ladies, he’s single.

The local news is so boring. Except when something horrible or sensational happens. Like if in Chemical Valley some unfortunate soul falls off the rail 200 feet to his death. I realize they try to show positive things. Like some kid made the tallest snowman. In fact my mom was in the paper a long time ago when she worked in the hospital.

I love playing sports, but I don’t need to know that the Sting hockey team lost another game or know the results of a stupid lacrosse match. But we still have a picture of my brother playing soccer when he was a lad. He was the athlete, I was the nice one.

I could never play any of the word games like crossword puzzles, sudoku or word searches. I don’t have any sort of vocabulary and I get tired of erasing my sudoku numbers. And word searches are something you do in elementary school. Like when you have a bible word search. “Yes, I found the holy grail. And yes I found the word shit.”

And of course there is the comic strip section. My mom likes Zits. My dad likes the Broons. And I like Garfield. Oh Garfield, you’re a cat, you should be eating Friskies, not lasagna. I wonder if he takes catnip to calm his nerves or take shits in a litter box. And why does he hate Mondays so much. He doesn’t have a job or anything. Like me.

However the mailman is a dying breed. Now people get their news online or on the television. And people pay bills and whatnot also online. So I hear on the news, haha, that in the near future people will have to go to the mail drop off thing to pick it up their mail. That would suck.

And I don’t know who would deliver the flyers then? I might miss out on a sale at Leons. Of course the only mail I get is a Christmas card from the Wilson family, a birthday card from my godmother and free trips to Mexico. But I never heard back from Paul McCarthy or Cher.