Tuesday, 23 May 2014

Today might just go down as the strangest of my career, possibly of my whole life. Seriously, Oliver O'Toole has been put on this earth to drive me insane. He is so… I can't even begin to describe it. But whatever it is, it is maddening. I mean, what is with calling me 'Miss McInerney' like I am some Southern belle in a crinoline. Is it better than Cheryl? I really don't know.

And he is manipulative! Oh, he covers it with exquisite manners, but he is absolutely used to getting his own way. He knew that I was worried about Kelly and desperately wanted to go straight up to the house with the blue gate and see what he (Charlie) had to say for himself, so he dangled the carrot of letting me use some tech skills to find out who Charlie was. As if I couldn't have done that standing on my head with a blindfold on! Oh, I am so …

I think I need to process this day a bit more sequentially. So, lunch was the time for our field trip to Washington Park. We went to see Mr Schwinn, only to find that he had been replaced by some kind of lock system. Of course, Oliver took the opportunity to make a snide remark about unnecessary automation. Maybe Mr Schwinn is very happy in his retirement, enjoying the delights of bingo in Florida.

Anyway, we read on, and learned that Charlie and Kelly went to the swings in the park and Charlie pointed out his house. Of course, I had to reenact the swing scene to see for myself. I bet Oliver had a conniption seeing me in bare feet! How scandalous! At least he pushed me – the man has some use.

After finding the address Mr O'Toole insisted that we could not knock on the door and put this whole thing to rest, but rather needed to follow protocol. It was then that he let me use my computer. Of course I found the addressee and Oliver insisted we mail the letter. I can't believe I begged him not to. Enter Andrea stage left, like the villain in some terrible melodrama. She drops the bomb that I can't transfer from this outpost for ten weeks. Things may have got a little worse after this, as I may have insulted everyone and their coffee, and quit the DLO.

Angry, jobless and frustrated, I just had to see this play out for myself. I walked to Charlie's house determined to see this through. My last brave act as an almost postal employee. Imagine my surprise / annoyance / resignation when I found Oliver waiting there for me. How did he know I would do that? I wasn't planning to do that. At least he brought good coffee. I really don't get him. One minute he is all about rules and regulations, following procedure and being efficient, and the next he does something incredibly sweet and is really quite generous. Huh!

So maybe I haven't quite quit the DLO?

Now let me get to Rita. Really Rita, you mailed my dead letter to me at the dead letter office. I mean what is up with that? She didn't think to hand it to me! I kind of want to grab that girl and shake her. She has been infected with the same crazy as Oliver and Norman. Actually, speaking of Rita, she told me that after I 'quit', Oliver was forced to say, 'Shane, come back Shane.' Good. I hope it completely freaked him out. She did go and get the card, I guess. Unfortunately, that means I must deal with it... but not at the moment.

Back to Charlie and his ...situation. It turns out Charlie was not available to receive his letter, because he was in jail! What! Not our Charlie! I have to say, that really threw me for a loop. So much so that I forgot all about the fact that I had if fact left the DLO, and returned there with Oliver. A simple search revealed that Charlie was awaiting trial in a murder case – he was accused of killing the baker who won the lottery.

The next thing that happened was pretty remarkable. I had spent two days thinking that the DLO and its inhabitants were the quirkiest people in the strangest place I had ever met. All at once though, it was like we were suddenly in sync, and everyone just shone! (Well, Norman sort of glowed a little, but still.) In a matter of minutes, we had not only determined that Charlie was innocent, but that we could have the means to help him. His lawyer is a moron, but we are not.

I must say, I didn't think that my impassioned plea would work as well as it did. My own little Agincourt speech about 'taking the leap', being 'covert postal intelligence', and having a 'license to deliver' stirred the troops. It may have in fact, given Oliver an ulcer as well.

Tomorrow definitely seems a brighter day.