It was in the early morning hour when even Craig Ferguson is asleep when I awoke to finish a step 3 grievance summary for a sister at another branch office. Not much is on television at 3:25 AM, but as I was surfing passed infomercial after infomercial, I stumbled across this Game Show Network. They were showing a Family Feud episode from 1978. I'll bet this is most boring channel we have in Colorado.
After finishing the paperwork on this grievance, a different game show called "Russian Roulette" came on. In this game, there is a giant round floor and 6 people that are standing on round indentations spread evenly apart in a circle around the perimeter of the floor. The host stood in the middle of them. "Welcome to Russian Roulette!" says the smiling host. Then he followed with some small talk, asking each of the guests where they were from, what their occupations were, and all of the other unimportant details of their lives that nobody cares about.
Finally, the game began. The host randomly selected one of the contestants to have the first turn. He gave her the question, and then asked whom she would like to challenge. She decided to challenge the creepy looking guy with glasses standing across from her. He got the question right so the next question went to him. This went on for about 5 minutes. Each time a contestant answered the question correctly, all of the money from their challenger went into their money pool. "Another boring show." I thought.
But suddenly, could it be? A woman answered a question incorrectly. The host turned to her, with a psychotic grin upon his face and says, "Sorry Lori! But it looks like you get to play Russian Roulette. Lock all the drop zones except for Lori's!" Drop zones? I didn't like the sound of that. A sense of foreboding swept over the audience. Suddenly I noticed something that escaped my sights before. A large lever was sitting sinisterly in front of each contestant. "Go on Lori. Pull the handle." She cautiously pulled down the lever. An eerie red glow suddenly lit up one of the indentations that a contestant was standing in. Then it flashed and appeared in the next indentation, rotating around the indentations as if it were a roulette ball. It stopped on Lori. A look of shock appeared on her frightened face, and the host let out a gleeful laugh. Suddenly the floor opened out from under Lori. She let out a terrified scream as she plunged into the darkness below. So this is why they call it Russian Roulette......
For a while I just sat there, in shocked silence. Lori. Where could she be? What became of that lovable little game show contestant that so easily stole my heart? That hole. That horrible, pitch black hole. What horrors awaited poor Lori at the bottom of that hole? Perhaps a tank of angry sharks? Did they smuggle her an undisclosed location? Is THAT why her scream lasted for an alarming 20 seconds? When will this madness end?
The scream of the panicked Lori still ringing in my ears, I decided that I must warn the world of the horrors of Game Show Network. And so here I am. Please, do your part; don't let another young, energetic Lori get dropped down that dark hole of emptiness! Lori was a friend. A wife. A MOTHER! Think of the children. Every night, as their grief-stricken father tucks them into bed, they hear it. I know they do. They hear their mother's screams. And they think, "Curse you Game Show Network! Curse you!!" Don't become just another Lori. Fight the evil that is Game Show Network. Do it, for the children!!!
On the other hand, what an interesting way to settle a grievance.....
It is a rude awakening to look through your mail and receive an envelope announcing your 20th year high school reunion. I graduated in 1988 as the class valedictorian at McDonough High School in New Orleans. After studying many subjects such as social studies (did you know that Magellan was the first navigator to circumsise the world?) and science (did you know that in springtime, salmon go upstream to spoon?) and english (did you know that "trousers" is an uncommon noun because it is singular at the top and plural at the bottom?) and geography (did you know most houses in France are made from plaster of Paris?) After gaining all of the knowledge and earning over a 4.0 GPA, I find myself working for the Postal Service anyway.
Ten years ago, I got one of these "high school reunion" notices and had no hesistation in not attending. In high school, my classmates looked at me as a nerdy A-student Jew. My high school was predominantly black and I am predominantly white - that didn't help my social standing either. I am basically the same person back then as I am now. I can still remember exactly what I was doing on the night that I should have flown to K-Town to hang out with my former classmates. To keep this short, I had a lot more fun back in Denver on that particular night.
I am still undecided about going this year. What is going through my mind is running into my former classmates that I shared almost nothing in common with. The guys that used to compare the size of their schlongs and how many girls they had are probably comparing salaries and personal assets. The women will probably look to see how many of the cheerleaders turned into fat 38 years old.
Because the internet has made the world so much smaller, I ran into an ex-classmate online. He told me that after they rebuilt our old high school after Hurricane Katrina, they have now installed metal detectors at several entrance doors.
Mygawd! Things HAVE changed in 20 years! This isn't the same world that I grew up in. I am convinced of this because of all of the stories about teachers and principals sleeping with students. The most recent story was about a balding middle-aged principal caught in a motel in Glendale, Wisconsin with underaged girls smoking pot and watching pay-per-view porn. The sad part is that these girls requested to see "Alvin and the Chipmunks." That is the shock back to reality!!
There are some physically-gorgeous female teachers that now sleep with students too. Being 37 years old, I look at this from a different point of view now. But to the guys on here, if a teacher that looked like Debra Lafave (http://www.590klbj.com/EI/T/Pics/Channels/KLBJ-AM/lafave.jpg) asked you out on a date when you were 16 years old - wouldn't you be tempted? I feel like a part of my education was totally neglected.
I suppose the biggest thing that I have learned since my 20 years away from McDonough HS didn't come from a textbook or a lecture. It was something that I learned over time to counteract my former low self esteem and self-image. I wished I knew now what I didn't know back then - like, being afraid to ask the girls out in high school. At that age, we simply don't know enough about ourselves. When we fail at something or get rejected - society as a whole over-emphasizes that fact. In reality, we were all born to be winners. We all share the same DNA from the Man Upstairs - no matter if you are the athletic jock, the pretty cheerleader or the nerdy straight-A Jew. We are equipt with the same brains and breath of life. We are all equipt to acheive any goal and to overcome any obstacle.
Perhaps, in high school we let the popular students and bullies distort our self-image, but as adults we shouldn't let cold-hearted management distort our self-image through intimidation and ignorance.
We are all born of the same Blood of the same Winner. All of us have same ability to control the destiny of our lives and our jobs.
I have heard this phrase when I have done something where the results turned out horrible. Someone will remark, "..what are you thinking?" Or if I have done something where the results turn out fantastic, like a ribald romantic night. The woman will look at you and ask, "..what are you thinking?" To the men on here, I would never recommend a menage a trois. You end up with a woman on each side asking "what are you thinking?" all night long. I'm sure I just imploded someone's fantasy on here.
But this isn't what I wanted to write about, I think....
My journey into this began innocently enough. I began to think at parties now and then to loosen up. Inevitably though, one thought led to another and I became a social thinker. I began to think alone - to relax, I told myself, but I knew it wasn't true. Then I started thinking on the job. I knew that thinking and the post office don't mix, but I couldn't control myself. I started avoiding my co-workers at lunchtime to read books on self-improvement and philosophy. I would hide the books in my car so that no one would know. I would return to my SSA window dazed and confused asking, "What is the purpose of life?" and "How can I improve my present situation?"
Soon, I had a reputation as a heavy thinker. One day the station manager called me into his office, "Mark, I like you, but your thinking has become a real problem. If you can't quit thinking on the job, I will have to issue you a letter of warning."
Wow! This gave me a lot to think about!
I decided to straighten out this mess and I approached my boss again. "You know, John, I've been thinking..." He stopped me right there. "I know you've been thinking and it has got to stop! You think more than a college professor!" I pointed out to my boss that," he re-itterated a faulty syllogism!"
My problem became clear to me when I decided to stop off at the library after work only to find that they closed early on Monday. There I was, laying on the doorstep clawing at the cold glass door whimpering that I need words for my thinking frenzy.
I have joined a postal support group where at each meeting we watch streams of non-educational postal videos, Jerry Springer reruns and the MTV channel. We share our experiences about having avoided any individual thoughts that week about the meaning of life, how can we improve our lives at work and at home and why the postal service prefers us to operate like gears and sheep.
I avoided my letter of warning and now my job at the USPS is bland without meaning and purpose. I am now a mindless robot reading the Mystery Shopper script verbatim inflecting no personality and I've quit working on grievances - too much thinking required. I stare at the TV for hours to receive my daily dose of brainwashing instead of contemplating about accomplishments, good works and faith.
The picture above is stupid prank I pulled on a former supervisor about 3 years ago - this is picture for someone else on here as proof positive.
Originally, on my last visit on this site on April 1st, I was going to write a juvenile sounding blog on here about a phony Postal Service story and I was going to begin every letter in the paragraph with the letters - A..P..R..I..L.. F..O..O..L" But I changed my mind and wrote the Harry Potter thing. Now, I am second guessing myself.
This blog is no April Fool's joke and concerns a subject that one of you may have run acrossed in your Postal career. Has anyone on here worked with someone who has died shortly after they retired from the Post Office? I realize that this is a dreary thought but I have now known 3 people (and number 4 is near) in my 13 years with the P.O. where this has happened.
Less than two years ago, I remember swapping stories and lies with a former city carrier, Mike Etter, at the local watering hole nearby our post office. His sister stopped by yesterday as a customer and friend in the customer line to let me know that Mike was in a hospice and in a coma. Apparently, this happened 3 weeks ago.
I don't know if you have ever visited anyone in a coma. These souls do not speak to you. People say that they know what you are saying, but how do you know?
Dream what you want to dream... go where you want to go... be what you want to be...because in this one life we have - there is only one chance to all the things that we dream
It was very difficult visiting Mike at the hospice. Remebering the good times and jokes we shared. Talking to Mike as he laid in that hospital bed without him joking back to me.
And I remember something Mike said to me, "...dream as if you will live forever.....live as if you will die today...."
That was his advice to me when I first became involved in the Union. When you first become a steward, it can be somewhat a nervous experience to confront your boss about airing their dirty laundry. Mike was very inspirational and educational to me while I grew as a union steward. Yesterday, I found myself looking at him with a bellyful of emotions. I found myself looking at a man who was a fighting heavyweight ready to fight anyone who threatened someone else's beliefs into a life-beaten man as a lightweight in his hospice bed.
All you can do is pray for them and leave it up to God. All I see is a former man who lays in a coma and perhaps he is dreaming. I am thinking to myself, we all have the strength and patience and passion to reach out and the change our small world like Mike did.
I am left watching Mike in his coma state and wondering if he is still thinking or dreaming - I suspect he is thinking that if life is cruel and our dreams are broken into a million pieces that we should pick up one of those pieces and begin again. So I will leave you with these words and my friend Mike - softly in his dreams.
I can still recall that dark and eerie halloween night when the evil wizard, Lord Voldemort discovered our hidden refuge and murdered my parents Lily and James Potter. However, when he attempted to murder me, the Avada Kedavra killing curse rebounded upon him and my uncle Jack. The only remnants of this evil curse is the distinctive lightning bolt-shaped scar on my forehead and some brain damage to my uncle Jack.
Eventually, as time passed, on my eleventh birthday, I received letters from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry which were delivered by owls. Under the guidance of headmaster Albus Dumbledore, I learned of my destiny and the art of wizardry and transformation.
I was having fun with my best friends Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger when more owls delivered a message to the boarding school. It was an urgent message concening my uncle Jack. I found myself worrying about his fate. Did my uncle Jack became a Muggle ( a non-magical person) or did he press on in life with his brain damaged mind. My owl friends let me know that my uncle Jack received two messages. One from the Eagle and the other from the Crow. The Eagle's message notified my uncle Jack that with his brain damage he could easily climb the ladder of Postal Management. The Crow's message told him to stop eating so many of us - we are becoming extinct.
If I could only leave this boarding school to fly to L'Efant Plaza I could show my uncle Jack the true wonders of Transformation. Albus Dumbledore explained about the use and mis-use of transforming powers. There are so many good uses in transformation - I think my best transformations are in the Philosopher's Stone.
The most obvious problem with my uncle Jack's Postal Service is declining mail volume and expanding delivery points. The solution is so simple a kid at an English boarding school could figure it out. My uncle's use of Transformation has becoming so complex and it is costly in dollars and loss of employee's jobs.
It is now April 1, 2008 and all of you are reading my blog with digitalized and electronic letters and words. Paper is no longer the medium and the USPS is no longer the messenger. If the only way my uncle Jack can save the USPS is by highly-expensive automation, consolidating post offices and excessing employees, the USPS will no longer exist.
The 2006 phase of increased automation within the Transformation Plan increased pieces sorted per hour but it was never fully integrated into the actual walking delivery of the mail. Transformation is supposed to be systemwide. If you initiate one solution and don't follow through with another - the results are disasterous.
The 2007-2008 phase of consolidation and job attrition has lowered the bar of customer service to an all-time low. True, labor costs have been reduced - on one level. Clerks and carriers noticed a 1.2% raise, however; middle management received an 8% increase (source: NAPS.org) and upper mangement received a 39% increase (source: NAPUS.org)
The 2009 phase of Transformation is the installation of FSS (flat sorting machines) and APPS (automated parcel post sorters). According to Siemens, Inc - each machine costs 1.4 million dollars to manufacture. Multiply this figure times the amount of machines required and I could buy myself and my friends Ron and Hermoine a lifetime supply of sushi and pizza.
I just hope my uncle's Transformation Plan becomes more cost-effective and people-conscious.
The true power of magic and transformation begins, not with potions and spells but with intelligent thought. The only magic that I witness my uncle Jack using is like that of Barack Obama. They both draw our attention away from what they are really about. Their words are not a mirror of their soul, they are more like a curtain. There is magic everywhere. The longer you pet your dog or cat - the longer you both shall live.
But the best magic is being honest, concerned about your fellow man and simply believing in yourself. If we can do that, we can make anything happen.
