Going Postal...

"A rose by any other name would still smell as sweet" -W. Shakespeare. Unless of course your name is A. Stoolfart. Really, this is a real name of one of my customers. (OK, it's got a German spelling, but that is how it's said.)

Stoolfart.

Wait, it gets better. We also have a Harry Teets, Dick Harry, and Mystee Drinkwater. Now, Harry's a grown man but poor Mystee, her parents did that to her. They couldn't even spell it normal. I mean, what is this poor girl supposed to do when she wants stickers with her name on them, or a personalized licence plate for her bicycle? The lesson for parents here... pick a normal name for your kids. They'll love you more for it later.

That Phat-Ho lives on the route I run on Mondays. Go ahead, say it out loud. I often wondered why she didn't change her name when she moved here from her home land. Seriously, the Italians and Irish did it all the time, and for far less of a reason. Lucky for her she does not have a weight problem.

Then there's the Brilliant Family that lives on route six. I'm still trying to figure out if they truly are brilliant, or if they're grossly over compensating. Really, if you were that smart, would you have to advertise it?

Just down the street from the Brilliants lives Tony Stark. Now, before all you guys go running to the Iron Man's summer home, I feel I must disclose that I have never seen any scantily clad women in his pool. No super-techno gadgets either.

The Cullens lived around the corner from my home. I'm sure they lived there quite peacefully until the books/movies came out, and they were run out of town by vampire hating townsfolk with pitch forks. That, or screaming teenage girls.

And there you have it. These are the things I ponder while driving around in my government issued tin can on wheels. Shakespeare, comic books, and pre-adolescent body humor. Oh, the rock star life of a postal carrier is so complex. Or maybe, just maybe, I've inhaled way too much exhaust from the mail truck.