Going Postal: Day 11

snoopstamp.jpgDay 11: You’re a Postal Worker, Charlie Brown

Back to work after two days off. Naïvely, I thought last night would be better—more tolerable or some shit like that. But no, even after two weeks I still feel like one of the manimals being sent back to Dr. Moreau’s House of Pain. I did however come up with a new game to play last night. It’s called “Avoid the Supervisors.”

Avoid the Supervisors is pretty self-explanatory. The way I figure it, if I can avoid seeing the supervisors, it will be easier for me to pull off “the Great Escape.” Basically, the Great Escape is my plan to simply walk out of the building after an eight-hour shift, instead of getting stuck for ten or twelve hours. I figure in order for this to happen, there needs to be a lull in the mail around 1:30 in the morning, and the supervisors can’t really be aware of my presence. Last night I was almost able to pull it off, in that I had almost no contact with the supervisors, but we were slammed with mail, and I could not quietly break away. Tonight, I am going to wear some sort of disguise, so that I won’t be as easy to recognize when I make my break for it.

Last night during my break, for some strange reason, I was compelled to pick up the newspaper and read the funny pages. Normally, I don’t read the funny pages, ‘cause most of that shit ain’t funny. But for whatever reason, I picked it up, and read Peanuts. Charlie Brown is at a bookstore, talking to an unseen clerk. Charlie Brown says, “Yes, ma’am, I’d like to buy a book of poems for this girl in my class…Well, she’s really out of my class, but we’re in the same class, but I’m not in her class…Actually, she probably doesn’t know I even exist…Don’t cry ma’am…I’ll survive…”

Maybe it was because it was late, and I was tired and in pain, but this shit struck me as hilarious, sad, and profound all at once. In five panels—all with Charlie Brown by himself—Charles Schulz managed to sum up my entire personal life. I sat there in the break room at the post office, and was overcome with a wave of self-realization, brought about by Peanuts. And in that moment, and during the hours that followed, I realized how much I am like Charlie Brown, and how much I hate that bald-headed motherfucker for being such a sad-sack who lets life walk all over him. Then I realized how much I hated Lucy, because that bitch was always pulling the football away from Charlie Brown, and pretending to be a psychiatrist, when it was all nothing more than a thinly-veiled attempt for her to create a sense of empowerment to counteract her lack of self esteem.

Standing on my feet for hours, hauling bricks wrapped in steel that were headed to Alaska, I realized that as much as I was like Charlie Brown, I also came to realize that I had spent the better part of my life with chicks like Lucy. Either I dated women who held out the football, only to yank it away—a symbolic form of cock-teasing and sexual power play—or I was sleeping with some self-appointed psychiatrist who felt compelled to tell me what was wrong with me, while never addressing her own shit. Sometimes, I was stuck with both sides of Lucy’s winning personality.

Then I stared to think about what Charlie Brown and Lucy would be like if Charles Schulz had ever let them grow up, and I realized that they and all the other Peanuts gang would be a bunch of fucked up adults. Linus would have experimented with drugs in college, and his schizophrenic disorder would manifest itself after dropping acid one time too many. Sally would be pregnant by her senior year in high school. Schroeder would have many failed suicide attempts until he finally came out of the closet. Charlie Brown would spend his life pining over women who pay him no attention, and his only real sexual experience would be with Marcy, Peppermint Patty’s lesbian lover, who during a drunken night of self-doubt would decide to try it with a man. This would lead to Charlie Brown obsessing over Marcy, who would quickly go back to muff-diving after a long weekend of having sex with Chuck. Of course, when Peppermint Patty finds out about Marcy and Chuck, she kicks both of their asses. And finally we have Lucy, who would grow up to be the sort of woman who is crazy because she is smart, but only feels valued for her sexuality. This would create a duality in her that leaves her pursuing men she can’t have (like Schroeder, who is gay), or assholes who knock her around. She foolishly uses her sexuality as a weapon, thinking that her pussy gives her power, when in reality her strength is a façade. Her and Charlie Brown remain friends, with him carrying a torch for her. Lucy knows that Charlie Brown loves her, but she only uses that knowledge to validate her ego, never acting upon it. Once in a while she gets drunk, and calls Charlie Brown, leading him on, getting him to stroke her ego, but she never puts out. During one drunken episode, Lucy lets Charlie Brown go down on her, and after she has an intense orgasm, she gets freaked out, kicks him out of her trendy studio apartment, and then calls up an ex-boyfriend who used to cheat on her. Eventually, Charlie Brown gets wise, and he decides that the best thing to do is save his money, and once a month treat himself to a reasonably-priced call girl. It bothers him that he can’t kiss her, but everything else makes up for not having to deal with the bullshit women like Lucy put him through.

And that’s what I thought about last night at work. Good grief.

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3 Responses to “Going Postal: Day 11”

  1. Chief Scalpum Whiteman Says:

    I would be concerned if you ever feel the same way about the summary of your life after reading a Ziggy comic. If that happens, just buy a gun and do what comes natural to postal workers.

  2. mikimonster Says:

    Your Schroeder theory made me laugh out loud. I think you’re spot on there. This post is a masterpiece. But it makes me wonder, aside from your postal pain, has it really been that bad? Really? Wish we could go out for a drink (or at least I would drink) and just shoot the shit. I know Tuina massage now too. 😉 ~Mik

  3. blorvak Says:

    Good Grief!

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