Open letter from a mailman: Please don’t sell me out to robots

Humour Stories | Satire
Illustration by Jane Qi, Graphics Contributor
Illustration by Jane Qi, Graphics Contributor

These days, it feels like we mail persons are severely underappreciated. I’m not sure people realize how the mail magically shows up at their house anymore. It’s not even those mega mailboxes that really bother me; it’s those damn robots. Drones are going to put me out of business, and I can’t say I’m too happy about it. I mean, have you seen that movie I, Robot with Will Smith? First, they’ll deliver your mail, then they’ll take over the world.

Yeah, I get that email is the norm these days. They’re quicker, they’re easier, and you don’t actually have to write anything down. But physical mail is special. I know it. You know it. Your grandma knows it when she sends you a gift card for a store that’s not even in your town for your birthday. (Yes, sometimes we snoop your mail). Just admit it: with the slew of emails bombarding your inbox, a piece of mail with your name on it is as personal as it gets — even if it’s from your bank asking if you’re okay with your current savings plan.

And speaking of personal, would it kill you to say hello once in awhile?  I know you’re in your house, still in your boxers even though it’s 11 a.m. on a weekday, and you don’t want to interact with the person delivering your package from I get it. But who do you think I talk to during the day? It’s certainly not the yapping neighbourhood chihuahua, who, at this point, only interacts with me because of the Milk Bones I bring him so he won’t rip apart my Achilles. See, I adapt to the world and make it a better place for all animals. You know who can’t do that? Robots.

Also, have you ever taken a moment to appreciate a mail person’s calves? Because I take personal pride in mine. Not only do we keep a tight delivery deadline, but we have the tightest calves in the delivery game. The pizza delivery guy might bring you happiness, but can he walk down Shelbourne from Mackenzie to Hillside and deliver mail to every house in under an hour, all while rocking cargo shorts? I don’t think so. Drones have cool propellers, but they aren’t as chiseled as I am. We are the Delivery Kings and what we bring to you is free (minus shipping charges that are predetermined by Satan).

I don’t want to go on strike for a wage hike or for a pension; I just want people to know that we’re better than robots. We’re thoughtful, caring people who are crazy enough to bring people mail in all weather (what’s a drone going to do in a windstorm?) with a smile on our face, knowing that they’ll probably recycle it anyways. So when you see us on the picket lines in the upcoming weeks remember: drones.


An exasperated mailman with great calves