To the mailman: keep your paws off our cake

I thought about many potential titles for this post, including "The Rude Mailman,"
"The Impolite Postman," etc.

Then I realized (no offense to the nice mailmen out there) that those titles were, for the most part, redundant.

I have met more than my share of, shall we say, unprofessional postmen (and women) in my life. I have met grumpy ones, mean ones, lazy ones, incompetent ones, and ones who I suspected had serious trouble tying their shoe laces in the morning, let alone dropping my mail into its box. (Aha! That's where velcro comes in.)

But now, at work, we have a mailman who eats our treats. Without asking.

This is rude and disgusting enough when he grabs a grubby fistful of moose munch. We know those hands have handled dirty and dusty mail and who knows what else. I am half-tempted to walk up to him and ask if he washes his hands after he takes a piss. I am never tempted to eat from the mailmanhandled jar of moose munch.

But it's an all-out declaration of war when he swipes a slice of cake made for a co-worker's birthday.

Mind you, if said mailman came into our office some fine afternoon and said, "Say, that cake looks yummy! Would you mind if I had a piece?" we'd surely say yes, if only out of politeness. (Note to reader: the editor in my office makes fantastic desserts and could seriously have her own bakery if she were so inclined.)

But he doesn't ask. He simply helps himself.

I would love to say, "Hey! How about asking first?" Or, "Didn't your mother teach you any manners?" But I am terrified that somehow our mail would not be long for this world if I vocalized such sentiments.

So the only thing to do, it seems, is move the treats to another location. Or call the post office and request a new carrier.

Decisions, decisions.