I was a mailman
After my sophomore year at NIU, I got a job with the US Postal Service as a full time substitute clerk carrier.
I took the exam, passed, and was assigned to the Ravenswood Post Office. A substitute clerk carrier at the time meant I could be doing anything once I got to work at 6 a.m.
Sometimes I drove a postal truck. Not a big one, but a smaller one that dropped off bags of mail at green boxes. The carriers would stop at the box and get the mail for that area. Sometimes the streets were pretty narrow and in those days, the city had not figured out how to use one way streets.
However, driving a postal truck makes you feel invincible. I would barrel down the streets, giving no quarter and yielding to no vehicle.
The job paid quite well. I don't remember how much, but I was rolling in dough every payday.
Usually I was a carrier. If a regular called in sick, I would get that route. As the new guy, lots of veterans would help me out with sorting and organizing for the day. The regulars knew their customers. They would leave notes on their case: Nice lady; mailbox sticks; friendly dogs; and the most important note: bad dog.
It's funny, in a way. I remember delivering mail where my friends John and Kathy now live. I thought the houses on Virginia were beautiful and the neighborhood a great place to live. I still feel that way whenever we go there for a visit.
A carrier was out, and I was given his route. I sorted the mail, rubber banded it, bagged it and headed out. I think I was a lot later than he would have been, but I was still on the route by 9 a.m.
I don't remember the exact street. It ran north and south. There was a east west cross street at the corner and there was a high school there. Might have been Senn, maybe not.
Anyway, it was a hot day. I was in the middle of the block and doing a fine job.
As a mailman, I always had a left hand full of mail. I used the right hand to open the box, put that address's mail in the box, close it and move on. My three wheeled cart, with water bottle, dog repellent and who knows what else, was on the sidewalk.
I opened the gate to the yard. Looking around, I did not see a dog. I climbed the steps. Looking around, I did not see a dog. I opened the porch door and walked to the mailbox. I noticed the door to the house was wide open. Looking around, I did not see a dog.
But I heard one. That clip, clip, clip of a dog's paws on a wooden floor.
I looked down and there was a German Shepherd watching me.
I put the mail in the box and backed away, keeping an eye on the dog, showing no fear.
That's when it jumped.
It literally flew at me. I had never seen a flying dog before! It' mouth was open, wide and its teeth were pretty darn big.
I jammed my left hand full of mail in its mouth and continued backing toward the door. All the while this dog had my handful of mail in its mouth, shaking that and my hand back and forth. I felt the screen door knob with my right hand, opened it, gave a shove with my left hand and closed the door.
Mail for four houses was scattered all over the porch, some of it with huge bite marks.
We didn't have cell phones back then. So I walked to the high school, and called my supervisor. He was pretty pissed because everyone knew that was a bad dog, but the case was not flagged.
When I went back to get my cart, there was a young kid in front of the house, holding a fistful of drooled and chewed mail.
He apologized, said he forgot to close the front door.
I told him no problem, and by the way, tell your parents they no longer have home delivery, because my supervisor said this was not the first incident.
I can't imagine what the people on the rest of the block thought when they got mail that looked like it had been chewed by a huge German Shepherd.
But I wasn't bit, and I learned a valuable lesson about being a mailman: don't.
I ended up going back to NIU.
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