Adventure to the… Mailbox

I went to pick up the mail this morning. As I did I thought to myself, “Do you know where your mail has been?”

I mean… who has handled it. Perhaps I should ask how many people have handled it. I think it’s likely that it has been handled by twenty or thirty postal workers along the way. But… it is worse than that.

The envelopes in my mailbox have not been practicing social distancing from other envelopes. I dare say, they may have come in close contact with several thousand other envelopes. And none of them are using flap sanitizer. You know those flaps have to have been licked by… well I can’t imagine the horror of it all.

I peered down into my mailbox and saw a small mound of mail waiting for me. I started to reach in, but before I touched anything I pulled back my arm like I had discovered a rattlesnake ready to strike. I suddenly realized all of my mail has been contaminated by the dreaded Cootie Bugs.

What was I to do. I was expecting some important mail… money! (Actually a check from Carnival with my massive winnings from my last cruise… $11.73.) I wanted to get the mail out, but I also wanted to minimize my exposure to the Cootie Bugs. For a minute I contemplated all the risks. First, it was the mail itself. How would I handle it.

Then there was the mailbox. As the mail was slid into the deep, dark, cavernous recesses and corners of the mailbox, I’m sure the postal carrier (politically correct for mailman… ours is a man) must be covered in Cooties since he had been delivering thousands of Cootie covered pieces of mail. Therefore, the whole mailbox must be covered in Cooties.

After contemplating my dilemma, I realized I had just found a use for that closet full of 100,000 Walmart plastic grocery bags I had been saving. I would use those as “gloves” for my arms. I poked two holes in the bottom… one for one finger and one for my thumb. It would be no problem to decontaminate my finger and thumb… spray with anti-Cootie bug stuff and then wash my hands for three hours. So… I pulled the bag up over my left arm,  reached in, grabbed the mail, pulled it out and closed the mailbox with my right hand.

Doh… now my right hand had Cooties.

When I got back to the house, I opened the door… Doh… now the door-knob has Cooties. Once inside, I didn’t know what to do with the mail. I couldn’t put it down anywhere because I didn’t want the whole house to have Cooties. Finally I walked back into the spare bedroom and put the mail down on the nightstand. Fortunately, no one is using that bedroom.

I peeled off the Walmart bag, dipped it in a bucket of gasoline and torched it. Take that you Cootie Bugs! Then I proceeded to hose down everything I had touched with disinfectant. We hoarded 743 gallons of disinfectant when we got word the Cootie Bugs were coming. (We didn’t get to the TP till it was gone. I don’t think Walmart plastic bags will work well for that.)

Just to be sure I didn’t get any Cootie Bugs on me, I stripped off my cloths and burned them too. That was quite a show for the neighbors. Finally, I got in the shower and washed everything thoroughly. I sang “Happy Birthday” to myself four times for every part I washed… six times for a couple of parts.

Finally, it was time to plop down, turn on the TV and tune in my favorite sports show. Doh… replays of the first spring training game of 1984.

Just as I was about to doze off, there came a quick knock-knock-knock at the door. I opened the door, but there was no one there. Out of the corner my eye I saw the flash FedEx person making a mad-dash for the truck. I understood… they don’t want Cooties either.

There on the porch step was a box. I realized the box had not been practicing social distancing with other boxes. Out came the Walmart bags, and into the spare bedroom went the box. This box was covered with plastic wrap, so I put it in a separate area from the mail. I called the mail area the 24 hour area, and the plastic stuff the 72 hour area.

About that time, there was another knock at the door. It was the pizza delivery. The young girl held out the pizza with her bare hand, and held out something for me to sign with the other hand. I froze for a minute. Where could I put the pizza?… would the pizza itself be covered with Cooties? With my hand and arm still wrapped in the Walmart bag, I signed for the pizza and told her, “Enjoy the Pizza’s. It’s on me.”

I guess I just have to eat beans till tomorrow. The food pick-up I made two days ago is still in the back of the Magic Bus. That quarantine will be up in another 24 hours.

Of course this has been tongue-in-cheek… sorta. But I do want to thank all the people who are out there delivering stuff like the mail, packages, and food. You are the front-line troops in this war.

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