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You’ve got mail – or not yet…not quite - A few days before my last birthday, a favorite relative in the USA called to advise me to expect a greeting card he had sent via “snail-mail,” i.e., the “Priority Mail” of the U.S. Postal Service. Since he had sent it well in advance (May 16), he calculated that I would be receiving it well in time for my birthday. At the expense of the element of surprise, he had called only to remind me to text him as soon as I received the mail. He hinted that he had enclosed a little something (I’m not at liberty to tell you what) to go with the Hallmark greeting card. Having little regard for the integrity of our own postal service, I of course told him about my misgivings, even remonstrating that he could have tried “Western Union” or so many other more reputable “padala” companies which have sprouted like sari-sari stores. After all, Filipinos have virtually perfected and institutionalized the system of “remittance” even spelling it now as “LBC” (which did not amuse some of our Miss Tapias). As d-day was fast approaching and still no mail, we both spent quite a tidy sum calling each other and expressing our common concern and frustration.
To make a long story short, my birthday came and went without that card arriving. Yesterday, however, or exactly three weeks after it was mailed and a week after my birthday, it finally arrived. Someone had slipped (on the sly) the 9”x12” cardboard packet (supplied by the “Priority Mail” of the U.S. Postal Service, U.S. Postage Paid - $12.95) under our gate, obviously without bothering to secure some proof of delivery. The mail matter appeared intact, oddly enough. But someone had obviously gone to a lot of time and trouble to examine its contents. You will have to take my word for it or you would have to see for yourself how that particular mail matter was handled or mishandled. Perhaps the best evidence of the dishonesty involved is the purported postmark on the envelop – deliberately blurred and blotted to disguise which post office it came from as well as the date of such distorted postmark.
In fairness, I have often bragged about the honesty or efficiency of the post office at Marikina. Having regularly received registered mail from our courts and lawyer adversaries, I am quite aware that the Marikina Post Office will deliver my mail within two or three days from its postmark, the postman even making sure to obtain some proof of service from the addressee/his agent…having sworn that “neither rain, sleet, nor snow, the mail must go.” Maybe it has also something to do with the way things are run by Mayor BF and his wife, Mayor Marides, who seem to have succeeded in instilling and installing, among other things, a pervasive, infectious if refreshing sense of honesty, integrity and civic-mindedness in the “Bayan ni Bayani.”
There is something about mail matter, no matter how worthless or trashy or plain junky it might be, which somehow involves or affects our delicate sense of privacy and ownership when someone tries to mess around with it. Somehow we feel violated, and it may not necessarily have anything to do with money. It’s a bit like when you discover that somebody has been rummaging through your wallet or reading the text messages and names on your mobile phonebook.
However, it’s futile to have the matter investigated further. I know well enough to know about the system in our country where the whistle-blower eventually winds up in jail or worse. There will be a lot of fingerpointing. The Manila/Naia Post Office did it. I just invented the whole thing. The mail never passed through the Philippine postal system. It’s all my fault. I should have known better than to trust the postal system. It’s like rubbing salt on an injury. Speaking of which, the lawyers have invented a term for it, since the time of the old Romans. It’s called “damnum absque injuria.” Loosely translated, damn if you do, damn if you don’t.
I am reminded of an old story I first heard from Dr. (former Senator) Juan Flavier. He used to regale us with the story of a farmer from Nueva Ecija who needed money desperately for his daughter's tuition. Not really knowing what else to do, he decided to write a letter to God, asking for the P3,000 he needed, signed his name (Mang Teryong Magsasaka), addressed to "GOD IN HEAVEN" and mailed it at the local post office. The letter ended up in the Dead Letter section which promptly opened the letter to look for a return address.
When the postal clerk read the letter, he passed the letter around to his fellow employees who, after a good laugh, then decided to pass the hat around to try to help poor Mang Teryo. They managed to raise only P2,500 - or, P500 short - which they nonetheless sent back to Mang Teryo. Mang Teryo wrote back to God, "Dear God, thanks for the money, but next time please don’t send the money by mail because as everybody knows those people in our local post office are all goddamn robbers!”
There must be a moral here somewhere. Like it’s time to forget about sending money via the pony express or even the old postal money order system. Also: whenever you do good, don’t expect any gratitude, or you’ll be disappointed.
Let’s face it, a good, honest and efficient postal system should be one of the basic services of any civilized country, along with adequate mass transportation system, health and other infrastructure and facilities every government is expected to provide. Unfortunately, good old-fashioned dishonesty and outright fraud have a way of corrupting the entire government system. I remember that some years ago, a young, idealistic Roilo Golez tried his best to improve the postal service. The people of Paranaque rewarded him by consistently voting him congressman.
That’s it. Maybe, the whole trouble is that we don’t show appreciation enough for the lowly postal worker. I’m reminded of the story of the retiring mailman.
It was the mailman’s last day on the job after 35 years of carrying the mail through all kinds of weather to the same neighborhood. When he arrived at the first house on his route he was greeted by the whole family there, who congratulated him and sent him on his way with a big gift envelope. At the second house they presented him with a box of fine cigars. The folks at the third house handed him a box of expensive chocolates.
At the fourth house he was met at the door by a strikingly beautiful woman in a revealing negligee. She took him by the hand, gently led him through the door, and led him up the stairs to the bedroom where she blew his mind with the most passionate love-making he had ever experienced.
When he had had enough they went downstairs, where she fixed him a giant breakfast: eggs, potatoes, ham, sausage, blueberry waffles, and freshly-squeezed orange juice. When he was truly satisfied she poured him a cup of steaming coffee.
As she was pouring, he noticed a dollar bill sticking out from under the cup’s bottom edge. “All this was just too wonderful for words,” he said, “but what’s the dollar for?”
“Well,” she said, “last night, I told my husband that today would be your last day, and that we should do something special for you. I asked him what to give you.”
He said, “Fuck him, give him a dollar.”
The lady then said, “The breakfast was my idea.”
I have often wondered (fantasized, really) what they give retiring lawyers. – Atty. JamesDLansang (ret.)
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