The postman drove too close to our mailbox. I was listening and heard the truck accelerate, then a shriek of metal, a hollow crash, then silence, then the doorbell.
There he was on the doorstep with the mailbox and bracket in his arms. The pole was still upright at the curb.
The mailbox had a scratch, but no dents, and that made me feel pretty proud. Evidently the box caught on the truck and the metal screws holding the bracket to the base sheared off, but there was no other damage.
We agreed that it looked like an easy fix, probably just a few hours.
He said, “I can just hold it then until it’s fixed.”
I reeled a little at the thought of that. Did he want me to fix it now? I mean, I could. He’d have to stand over by the curb and hold it there and — wait.
“Oh,” I said. “You mean you’ll hold the mail.”
2 responses to “Mailbox misunderstanding”
OH that is hilarious! And absolutely the most sequential conclusion for a brain to come to while he is *physically holding a mailbox in his arms* but… yes.
We’ll be without a mailbox for at least two more days. (I said plastic mailbox, duct tape, sharpie street number for two days but Gary refused.) We don’t get much of anything in the box anymore.