Free The Interview by Eric Weule

at you. Ready for another day of
lounging around, not doing anything except flirting with the boys
down at the country club. Rough.”
    “I can't feel my legs. I think I'm dying.”
    “Oh, God. Here we go.”
    “I'm serious. I may not last the day. I have to call Jolie and
have her come sit with me. I think I'm going blind.”
    “You are the biggest drama queen I've ever met.”
    She smiled a smile that would make Satan proud, pure evil. “Are
you going to cry again today, you big baby?”
    “Do you kiss your grandkid with that mouth?”
    “Yes, but he's a sweetheart. Never cries when I'm there. He's
an angel.”
    “Yeah, but he's a heavenly angel. You hang out around lakes of
fire.”
    “Careful, I'll raise your rent.”
    “I pay your mortgage. What are you going to do, make me pay for
the Mercedes?”
    “I could. Just remember that before you come home whining
tonight.”
    “Annette and her reality checks. What would I do without them?”
    “You'd spend your life bitching and moaning about how rough you
got it.”
    I kissed her on the cheek. “Wouldn't want that. I'd sound like
a little old lady.”
    “Have a great day, Kelly.”
    “You too, love. I'll be home for lunch.”
    “I'll be sure to be gone then.”
    She's sweet.
    I decided to walk to work with the idea that it would be the only
time I wouldn't sweat today. It was on the wrong side of eighty once
again, and by nine it would just be stupid to walk around outside.
It's my job though. I cut through the school and walked in the door
with one click to spare. Twenty-five other losers in postal uniforms
milled around the time clock in anticipation of another day
delivering mail. I don't like getting to work at 7:30, or 0750, in
the morning. I like strolling in as late as I can get away with. But
this morning I looked forward to a boring day of letters and sweat. I
didn't want to think about what was in my closet, or the lives
hanging in the balance, or gigantic penises. Definitely not that.
    I avoided looking at anybody while I slid my time card. I slid into
my case on stealth mode. Found some Buck c herry on my iPod and went to work. Before the song could even start there
was a knock on my case.
    “Hi, Kelly.”
    Heaven help me. Not today. “Hi, Thelma. What's up?”
    “Nothing. Just wanted to say good morning.”
    “K. Hi.”
    “Your karma is still looking great. Keep it up.”
    Thelma has been trying for three years to get a medical out.
According to her, she is allergic to grass, pollen, cement, coffee,
sugar, gluten, and paper. She is also lactose intolerant, has a weak
bladder, and can't see more than ten feet in front of her. The post
office could care less about any of these things. Now she's going for
a psych leave. The stress of carrying mail has destroyed her ability
to live a happy life. Like I said before, she's an empath. The world
is filled with tiny dramas, and Thelma is hooked in to everyone of
them.
    Thelma is also my T-6. The post office follows a six day work week.
Carriers work five days. T-6's carry the route when the regular
carrier has the day off. A T-6 has five routes that they are
responsible for. In Thelma's case, she has routes six through ten.
I'm Route Eight. The guy on Route Nine was off today, so Thelma was
on his route.
    Lucky me.
    “There have been two UFO sightings in China in the last eight
days.”
    “Really? Crazy.”
    “I think the aliens have realized that America is not the most
superior nation on the planet anymore. That's why they've started
checking out China. They're the next great superpower.”
    “Wow. You've given this some thought.”
    “Lots. India, too.”
    “India has given this a lot of thought?”
    “No. There are UFO's in India.”
    “So India is going to be a superpower, as well.”
    “Right. We're on the downhill slide. That's why the post office
is making all these changes. They're trying to show the aliens that
they're efficient and worth notice.”
    “Huh. So the aliens are the