Free The Interview by Eric Weule Page A

reason my route has changed four
times in the last year?”
    “Yes. All the barcodes, too. They use the language of
mathematics, so barcodes are easier to read for them. They're
tracking us.”
    “The Post Office?”
    “No. The aliens. The barcodes were their idea.”
    “That makes sense.” It did in a bizarro post office way.
My scanner couldn’t read the barcodes half the time. I ended up
punching in sixteen-digit delivery confirmation numbers. Good times.
Waste of time. I couldn't figure out what the hell was going on
around here. I had been leaning towards stupidity as the main reason,
but aliens worked for me.
    “I knew you'd understand. The spill in the gulf is a PR stunt.”
    Thelma has mousy brown hair that hangs limp at all times. Her glasses
were thick and black with the required piece of scotch tape holding
on one arm. The blue of her eyes was faded, and the whites were shot
with yellow and blood vessels. She looked sick to me, but the aliens
were in charge so she was probably the picture of health.
    “The oil spill?”
    “Yes. British Petroleum planned it all.”
    “They planned to kill untold numbers of fish and wildlife,
completely decimate the Gulf States economy, and make Katrina look
like just another storm?”
    “Yes. They're following the Exxon plan.”
    “The Exxon plan? Please enlighten me.”
    Where was a supervisor when I needed one? I glanced at Casey's case,
but she was hiding. I knew she was listening to the whole thing,
trying not to laugh out loud.
    Thelma leaned close so I could smell the eggs she had eaten for
breakfast. “Are you aware of how much Exxon profited last
year?”
    “A lot?”
    “Billions and billions of dollars.”
    “Really?”
    “Yes, really. The Valdez was the single greatest thing that
happened to Exxon. Nobody remembers the devastation it caused, they
only think about the stock prices. Exxon is worth a lot of money.”
    “Exxon-Mobil, is worth a lot of money,” I corrected her.
    “Right, and how long do you think before Exxon-Mobil-BP is
going to be worth even more?”
    “You are so smart, Thelma. I can't believe no one has seen
through their plan. Why are you a mail carrier? You should be in the
White House. Obama could use you.”
    “I know,” she said with exasperation. “These
fucking pricks won't cut me loose.” Thelma looked over her
shoulder to be sure no one was listening. “They know, Kelly. I
should be out there saving the world. Stopping those money-grubbing
oil companies. But they're keeping me here. They're all in it
together.”
    “With the aliens?”
    “Yes! Finally!”
    “Stay strong. Keep me posted.” I bumped knuckles with
Thelma, then turned and prayed she went away. Maybe if I closed my
eyes and counted to twenty. It worked with Batman.
    I gave it a shot.
    When I opened them, I snuck a peek behind me. “I'll let you
know if I discover anything else.”
    I gave her a thumbs up. She smiled and vanished.
    I put my earbuds in, and pushed play. There was a tap on my shoulder.
I shook my head, took my earbuds out, and turned around.
    “Morning, Carl. What's up?”
    Carl looked like the Michelin Man after an overdose at the air pump.
He bulged everywhere. He was my height, but must have weighed 300
pounds. A head of thinning hair barely concealed a small head atop a
short, thick neck.
    “Just wanted to give you a heads up, Kelly.”
    “What's that, Carl? Did I miss a scan point?”
    “No.” He glanced down at his clipboard, then ran a
finger down a column. “You hit them all.”
    “That's a relief.”
    “No, umm, the problem is with your street time. Graciella is
going to hammer you for it, and, I, uh, just wanted to give you a
heads up.”
    “Thanks, Carl. I'll look forward to Graciella pulling me into
the office. Anything else?”
    “The computer is still crunching the numbers, so I'll come back
to you with your OTDT”
    OTDT stands for “out the door time.” It is a relatively
new concept in the Post Office. It's based