Tales From The Delivery Route: The Mailman And The Jester

I've told quite a few tales about myself on this blog.  However, after all these years writing this blog I think I've tapped out all the funny stories about me.  So I thought I'd move on to another victim, er... subject.  Namely, my father.

For twenty five years my dad was a U.S. Postal Letter Carrier.  That's right, he was your friendly neighborhood mailman. 

Here's a seldom known fact.  Your mailman knows everything about you.  My dad was out on the street delivering the same route every day six times a week.  He knew everyone's business.  He also knew everyone's legal names as well as their street names.

He delivered to a small independent convenience store where the "independent businessmen" hung out.  They would stand off to the side of the store, and would sell their goods.  (I think you get my drift on what they were selling.)

So one of the guys who hung out there didn't have a street name like the rest of them.  They were all having a conversation on what this guy's street name should be.  That's when my Dad, among the whitest of all white guys, suggests the following to them.

"Well, you're big and you like to make people laugh.  Your name has to be Jester."

That's when the all African American group of businessmen looked at my Dad like he was the most brilliant thing on the planet.  They immediately agreed that the fellow should indeed be called, "Jester."  And that's how my dad, among the whitest of white men, gave an urban, black, independent businessman his street name.