I grew up in the city. Back when one would walk to a friend's house and stand below an open window or screen door and yell, "OOOhhh [insert friend's name], can you come out and play?". There were trash collectors who would work in twos, one to drive, the other to collect the cans , dump them in the back of the truck, and whistle when he wanted the driver to go to the next house. The mail carrier would walk the block, and deposit the mail in a slot that was an open portal to the house.
I remember my first experience visiting a rural place and seeing the mail being delivered by an unmarked station
wagon, kind of an undercover mail carrier. The driver sat in the passenger's seat and somehow worked the foot pedals and stearing wheel from the there. The mailboxes looked like an animal cage, or birdhouse, to me, sitting atop a wooden post. Always on the right side of the road, so the poor mail carrier had to drive their vehicle in the awkward position described above.
I also remember thinking that I would slit my wrists if I ever had to live in a rural place! AH, City Life!
The above photo was captured not too far (as the crow flies) from where I currently live.
In rural New England! And no, there has been no wrist slitting (as of yet). And what I have learned about rural living is vast, and humorous, and has opened my eyes to change, which is good.
Now, when I see a rural malebox (my guess is that this one is male) I can relate to the humor, or the desperate attempt, and know that somewhere in the city there are postal carriers who would love to be driving their routes undercover with the promise of entertainment along the way! And really, how many rural carriers can you name that have gone postal?
And speaking of names, the answer to NAME THAT KILLER two, is Richard Speck.
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