Thursday, March 8, 2012

Daddy Longlegs

We have a curious bunch working at the Post Office, all different types, personalities, shapes and sizes.

Today’s story has to do with size.

This morning as I was walking through the office, I happened to notice route #20. Well, not the route, really, but the man sorting it. I was expecting PW, the regular on the route, but instead it was DL, a man who used to be my floater ( floater = the guy who covers for the regular on days off). Recalling that DL was once my floater, and seeing him when I was expecting to see PW, a surprise in and of itself that I shall explain shortly, caused an odd memory to surface from the depths of my murky brain.

I remembered that lots of people out on my route had loved it while DL was my floater. Especially the women in the Old Age housing I deliver to. DL was quite popular with the ElderCare skirt set, and seeing him when I was expecting PW showed me why.

I must explain.

PW is… well,… he’s what we like to call in these enlightened times, Vertically Challenged. Altitude Deprived. Suffering from a Vitamin Tall Deficiency.

In just plain words, he’s not the tallest guy in the room. Unless it’s a 1st grade class. And even then it’s not a sure thing.

Now, picture coming around the corner, already looking down, sort of focused on PW’s particular airspace, and running instead into Lurch, from the Addams Family. I found myself tossing a sunny “Good morning” to a pair of knees, and I found myself stepping back a bit to take in the whole picture as my gaze went up.

And up.

DL is what we might refer to as ‘Height Enhanced’. He has ‘Biggism’. When they were handing out legs, DL figured ‘two legs, right?’ and he got in line twice.

DL is one tall drink of water. If he stands to attention he’s two of them.

“Hey DL,” I said. “I just now figured out why my customers out there in Powderhouse and Green Street courts were so happy when you were my floater.”

“Yeah?” He twisted back to glance at me, but continued to work, talking into his rack loud enough for me to hear him. “Why’s that?”

“The easiest way to explain it is to compare you with PW,” I said. Then I waited while he laughed.

“Okay,” he said once the ponderous giggles had ceased trickling down to me from the heights. “Shoot.”

“PW’s legs, they try to see them but they have to be fast. I mean fast. The guy’s gams are so short if you blink you miss them, even if you’re working with a photograph,” I said.

“And mine?” he said, lifting one heel and going toe down with the foot, coquettishly (for him) giving me a nice view of a flexed and bulging calf muscle nearly as long as my arm.

“You? You they like. Most of those people aren’t moving that fast any more, and when those sexy stems swing by their windows,” I pointed to his legs, needing both hands to do the job properly, “the old gals have a chance, no, there’s no chance involved, they’re compelled to take a good looooong look!”

He laughed, sounding just a bit like a ticklish foghorn, and I looked over at LR, another coworker who had watched the whole exchange. I grinned and presented DL’s legs with a showmanlike flourish of my hands.

“Well?” I said. “Am I right, or am I right?”

She turned and started to walk away, her head shaking.

“Hey,” I called to her retreating back. “Where are you going?”

Oh well. Talk to you later!

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