Post Office. Chapter II: 8
I met an old drunk on the street one afternoon. I used to know him from the days with Betty when we made the rounds of the bars. He told me that he was now a postal clerk and that there was nothing to the job.
It was one of the biggest fattest lies of the century. I’ve been looking for that guy for years but I’m afraid somebody else has gotten to him first.
So there I was taking the civil service exam again. Only this time I marked the paper “clerk” instead of “carrier.”
By the time I got the notice to report for the swearing-in ceremonies, Freddy had stopped whistling Around The World In Eighty Days, but I was looking forward to that soft job with “Uncle Sam.”
I told Freddy, “I’ve got a little business to take care of, so I may take an hour or an hour and a half for lunch.”
“O.K., Hank.”
Little did I know how long that lunch would be.
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