Goines On: Postmister

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The Goineses’ local post office had acknowledged their hold request for April 28 - May 9, when they would be away to visit family in California and Minnesota, and on May 9 their next-door neighbors handed them the few items that had evaded the hold.
    They expected their carrier to deliver a huge stack later that first full day back – probably to their front door, because it would be thick with Sunday editions of The NY Times, various magazines, and numerous glossy political ads for the upcoming primary.
    But the mail truck came and went, and their box remained empty.
    Goines told Mrs. Goines he’d go by the p.o. right after it opened the next morning, which he did.
    Before entering, he briefly rehearsed what he would say. And then:
    “Good morning. Can you please tell me, what’s the post office’s official policy for delivering accumulated held mail?”
    He paused for the beautifully smiling, dark female clerk to respond:
    “The policy is that it will be delivered the day the hold is scheduled to end.”
    Goines nodded slowly before delivering his second line:
    “In your own experience, for what percentage of holds is that policy actually carried out?”
    The clerk seemed to see where this old man in his Harris Tweed hat was headed. 
    “Well, it doesn’t happen every time; circumstances arise.”
    Goines paused again for dramatic effect. “Right, not every time. I don’t remember the count, but for the last three or four consecutive times I’ve asked for my mail to be held, it was not delivered according to that policy.”
    Another pause. “So, might I be able to collect it now?” He gave her the address.
    “Ah,” said the clerk, “David has been out for a month with back problems. The substitutes must have missed the delivery notice.”
    “Oh,” said Goines, “I didn’t know David was out. Is he okay?”
    “We hope so. I think he’ll be back soon. I’ll need to see your ID.”
    Goines unzipped the lower zipper of his kangaroo pouch and extracted his wallet, which he also unzipped and flipped open to expose his driver’s license.
    “Thank you, Mr. Goines.”
    Goines smiled to himself at the possibility of saying that he was Postmister Goines.
   “Would you give me a minute to go find your mail? And I’ll be sure to let my supervisor know about the missed delivery.”
    Goines nodded and waited patiently, thinking about David. They had spoken a few times and always waved at one another in the neighborhood. For Christmas, Goines had left a $10 bill for David in the mailbox, in an envelope addressed to him, but a substitute carrier had collected it and not passed it on. David’s non-delivery made Goines’ seem trifling.

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