The Coonridge Digest: Secure in the Heartland

Greetings from the Ridge.

"Harold, what’s this?" Our postmaster is just about the friendliest guy in town and is not beyond playing a practical joke.

"It’s an official notice, Freida. I need you to identify yourself."

"Okay, I’m me. Now give me my mail."

"Gotta do better than that, old girl."

"Harold, I’ve known you for fifteen years. I’ve watched your hair go gray in this job. I’ve looked at you every day the post office is open and I’ve slipped on your icy sidewalk. What more bonding do we need?"

"It’s the terrorism thing, Freida. The Bureau of Homeland Security demands that we identify each postal box customer."

"What about those who get their mail delivered?"

"No, just the box holders."

"Terrorists don’t get home delivery?"

"Freida, please…"

"You want blood? I’ve got a blister on my heel and…"

"I need two forms of official identification and one of them’s got to have your picture."

"Two? You think if I had two faces I’d be wearing this one?"

"Have you got a drivers’ license, Freida?"

"Sure. Do you? You show me yours and I’ll show you…"

"Freida, there’s a line forming behind you."

"I know, I’ll bet you dollars to donuts that there’s not a one of them that has two official forms of identification in his pocket."

"A drivers’ license and something official will do. We can get by with just one picture."

"Here. My People magazine has Britney Spears on the cover. Just close your eyes and imagine she’s me."

"An insurance card? I’ll take an insurance card and your drivers’ license."

"You think maybe we’re going too far with this, Harold? Think maybe that getting two forms of identification from poorly dressed housewives is really going to make Osama turn tail and run?"

"It’s a federal thing, Freida. I’m only doing what I’m told."

"And I admire that, Harold. I truly do. Look, I’ll trade you one drivers’ license and an insurance card for a roll of postage stamps."

"I’m not going to keep your ID’s, Freida."

"Sure, love me and leave me. Look, just let me come around the counter and you can frisk me. It might be the only thrill I get all winter." I started to move around the counter to throw my hands in the air. "Hey!

What’s this, Harold?"

"I’ve got to keep that gate locked. More homeland security." The little swinging gate was like the bottom half of a French door. The entire contraption only stood three feet off the ground. "You’ve got to be kidding me, Harold. I could reach over this little door right now and slap you silly. What good is this little gate doing?"

"All I know is that the inspectors will come around three times a year to make sure it’s locked."

"$37.7 billion bucks for Homeland Security and you install a lock on your gate so some fellow can come out from Washington and check it?"

"That’s about the size of it."

"That’s ridiculous, Harold. I can’t believe you’d have a part in such a thing. I don’t see the UPS trucks locking their little gates and I’ve never once had a brown-shirted guy wearing cute shorts ask me for two forms of identification."

"They’re private, Freida."

"The shorts?"

"The company. Freida, I’ve got three people in line behind you and this office only holds four. Could you bring me your ID’s tomorrow?"

"Will you promise to wear brown shorts?"

"No."

"A coupon. I’ve got a Sears coupon in my purse. I could write my name on it."

"Here’s your mail. Just bring in the ID’s tomorrow."

"Did anyone ever tell you that you’re cute when you wrinkle those brows, Harold?"

"Tomorrow, Freida."

"I’ll go home and get it right now, Harold. Herb will never sleep with a terrorist."

You ever in Coonridge, stop by. We may not answer the door but you’ll enjoy the trip.