I see what I’ve always called “the old Post Office” has been sold. Fingers crossed for what it will become, but one thing is for sure, it won’t be torn down on account of it’s been designated an official “Provincial Historic Resource”. And I thought it was just the old post office.
In fact, for a wee while I was one of those post office people. It was way back in the dark ages when there were certain restaurants in our fair city that wouldn’t serve people with long hair. Well, males with long hair to be specific, and I was one of those reprehensible restaurant patrons branded as unwelcome.
My main job in those days was playing in a travelling rock and roll band, taking classes at Red Deer College, attempting to eat in pizza joints that wouldn’t serve me and growing my hair.
Christmas came that year as it usually does and I had a break from the road and a break from college both of which left a large hole in my tiny wallet, so when someone said, “Hey they always need extra mailmen at the post office during the Christmas rush” I went down to the big brick building. As the song says, “I tucked my hair up under my hat” (in this case a toque) and went in to inquire about a part-time job.
Somehow, maybe because it was Christmas or maybe because they were desperate (probably both), some kind soul quickly hired me and sent me away with: “You start tomorrow. Be here at 5:00 a.m.”.
Pardon ME?? My recent lifestyle up to this point most often involved attempting to be home by 5:00 a.m., and getting a healthy 10 hours sleep significantly past the crack of noon.
I somehow made it on time the next morning and was introduced to the person I would be assisting in carrying the mail overload.
Her name was Debbie and she was in her forties and in forty times better shape than I was. I don’t think she was too impressed by my diligently grown shoulder-length locks as she frostily demonstrated how to sort the letters into a tall shelf of square pigeon holes, whipping the envelopes like some sort of Olympic sorting champion. She showed me how to arrange by house address my share of the mail in my own big blue bag, and then gave me a small aerosol can. “Dog repellent,” Debbie said, grinning. “You’ll probably need it.”
I was freezing cold when Debbie and I headed out into the darkish dawn and it was all I could do to keep up. We had the downtown area to deliver, Debbie taking the south side of the street, me on the north. I quickly learned how wonderfully welcome a well-shoveled sidewalk, a nice clean and large mailbox and a dog-free yard is to a mailman, mailwoman, mailperson or mail carrier. Also, I quickly learned how exhausting many thousands of steps are after three hours of snow-slogging, delivering the mail.
I more or less got the hang of it eventually. Even to the point of looking forward to the early morning sorting in that big building with a bunch of good people, and then hitting the streets trying to catch Debbie.
But the best thing? Debbie had a routine of stopping at a downtown café for a hot coffee slash cinnamon bun break halfway through the route, and everyone there seemed to be a friend of hers. And even though she wasn’t at first too sure about this long-haired galoot helper, she always invited me to join her at the little Formica table.
And they served me with a smile. Even after I took off my toque.
Harley Hay is a Red Deer author and filmmaker. You can send him column ideas to harleyhay1@hotmail.com.