I am a longtime cheerleader for the United States Postal Service. Correct that: I was a longtime cheerleader for the United States Postal Service. My wife has been a full throated complainer about the mail service for a long time but I always defended it. "They're not that bad. Yeah, we lost a couple pieces of mail a while back but, all in all, they're doing a great job considering they ride around in glorified golf carts, spend their days getting chased by rabid dogs, all while wearing uniforms that look like they were designed around the Civil War." Actually, that's when they were designed. The first postal uniform came out in 1868, featuring what was described as "blue grey garments."
My affection for the service had something to do with the fact that the post office in Mays Landing, New Jersey, where I was raised, was attached to my father's grocery store, and I would routinely sneak over there when I was supposed to be stocking shelves and the post master would show me card tricks. Man, those were the days, back when the mail could still get out on time even though the bosses were wasting public money entertaining snotty kids.
But, ladies and gentlemen, it pains me to say it, but my days of praising the post office are over. It's splitsville for us. The same thing is happening, by the way, in Great Britain, where it's 500-year-old Royal Mail Service—the envy of the Western World for so long—is facing immense criticism for underperforming.
Well, what's going on here? Well, first of all, I would estimate we get mail an average of 4.7 days a week instead of the required six, and not because of the recent spade of arctic weather and snow; this has been going on for a while.
Secondly, by my wife's count, at least ten pieces of mail intended for us have been lost over the last eight months. She signed us up for what's called Informed Delivery, a service in which you are emailed a photo of the mail that is scheduled to arrive that day, which of course doubles your anger when it doesn't show up. You took a photo of it, where the hell is it? My wife dutifully hits the "Report Missing Mail" tab, signs in, describes the piece of mail, invariably gets a nice return email ("We received your email. Every effort is being made. We apologize. Thanks, blah, blah, blah.") but never the missing letter.
The quaint custom of leaving a letter in your quaint mailbox with the quaint flag in the upright position? Wouldn't dream of doing that now. A squirrel might wander in there and pick up the letter before a postman does. So I take it personally to the post office. And I haven't left a letter in one of the outside mailboxes since the day two years ago that I saw mail spilling out of a box like candy out of an overstuffed Halloween bag.
Inside the post office? Well, there used to be two workers there, a lot of times three, but now at my post office there's one; usually the same woman. They should be paying her $500,000 a year. She's competent but overworked and she doesn't seem happy. Trust me, no time for card tricks.
Look, I get the whole picture. Well, most of it, anyway. Transactions via internet has reduced the need for mail, so it makes sense that some reduction in postal services would be necessary. But straightening out the business of the post office has always been a conundrum. The post office is self funded through postage, products, and other services, yet it is under the agency of the Executive Branch. President Trump's hand-picked guy, Louis DeJoy, was the one who fired workers, reduced overtime, and cut services.
But somebody should do something. The post office remains a de facto monopoly. Letters and checks and important things are still sent out and need to arrive somewhere else. Get better, post office. Never mind your pledge that neither snow, rain, heat, and gloom of night will stay the swift completion of your appointed rounds. You're not even doing well on sunny afternoons.
