I’m Afraid Not

After my parents moved to a small Oregon town, my mother had a little run-in with the letter carrier. Okay, a really big run in. She didn’t appreciate all the junk mail she got because with it came rising trash costs. (Their apartment charged by the volume and weight.) So she and the letter carrier had a discussion. Okay, words. That’s how she described it. They “had words.” She complained about the amount of junk mail. The L.C. (Letter Carrier) said, “Sorry. I have to deliver it to you. It’s the law.”

She asked if she could refuse it.

Nope.

“But it’s addressed to the person who used to live here.” She pointed to the addressee.

“Or current resident,” L.C. informed her, also pointing.

Fed up with his implacableness (is that a word?), she threatened to collect her junk mail for an entire month, then deposit it into the post office’s trash bin. Then they could deal with it.

“You can’t do that!” the indignant L.C. screeched (her word, not mine). 

And that’s when the war started.

First, she ignored all the mail. In no time, her small mailbox was crammed full. When she missed a few important letters, she changed tactics. After sorting through everything, she shoved the junk mail back into the box. Again, she missed some important notifications. 

Finally she came up with a brilliant plan (her words, not mine). She decided to return the unwanted mail to the senders. But after thinking through her idea, she realized they would know who returned it since her address was on the mail. So my dear, usually sweet mother opened all the junk mail and cut out the identifying information. Then she mailed back the junk to the sender in their own prepaid envelope. Her mischievous side really kicked in when she came up with clever names to put on the return envelope.

Thus the “Name Game” was born.

Here are some of my favorites (read aloud for more impact):

• Justin Cayce
• Shirley U. Gest
• Nat Churley
• F. Ida Onley
• Helen Gaughn (her words, not mine.)
• Jim Nazium
• I. Beforee

My mother wanted me to help her 

break the law?

When she ran out of ideas, she asked me to help her come up with some clever names. Sure. Sounded like a great game…until I heard the whole story. Then I was aghast. My mother wanted me to help her break the law? (By the way, I opened my own junk mail and inside it states very clearly that “tampering with this mail and sending it back could result in fines.”) Oh, dear.

Well, that didn’t stop Mom. She gambled that authorities wouldn’t arrest a seventy-something woman who had enough of her natural red hair to prove she was still a spitfire. Besides, she was hooked! Her Name Game was far more fun than crossword puzzles. As far as I know, she kept playing it until she moved out of the apartment complex.

You might wonder: does this story have a moral? Did Mom and L.C. ever come to terms? Make peace?

Ima Fraidnaught.