'Tis The Spirit

I only go to the post office when I need to send a flat-rate box. Most of the time, I find myself half crouching, half sitting on the four box flaps trying to tape it shut. The confused Vietnamese postal worker behind the counter usually stares with dead eyes at a scene that should result in a humor-induced smile. But instead, she's always stone faced at the man emulating a chicken hatching an egg in a government building.

And in a building so obviously associated with frustration, dullness, and, above all, a strict sense of reality, I came across this bright red mailbox.





















This may be the first year of the Christmas mailbox; it may be the fiftieth. Either way, this functional icon of the season allows believers a physical locale with which to postmark their treasured messages to the Man himself, Santa.

And of all places to see something so wonderful, so full of the spirit. The post office. Where, once, a line of playful flirting resulted in a "The line is long sir. Please don't waste my time." The post office. Taking extra time to bolt a holiday mailbox into their floor. Deep down, the jaded and cynical of the USPS have a heart, just like the rest of us.