That, my friends, is a red wasp sting. It struck while I was dropping off letters, and let me tell you: it hurts to an almost offensive degree.
I did get my revenge on the wasp, though. I also convinced the customer that mailmen are weird creatures. He found me in his yard, driving my fist into the grass. I was making sure I would have defeated the red wasp, and I might have been hyped up on adrenaline.
You know what? I really can’t fault the customer. Mailmen are, indeed, weird.
Listens to customers order clearly, prompt food delivery, lets customer bring own beer to table. 10/10, would pretend-eat here again.
As a mailman, I’ve met many, many dogs on my route, and my favorite route-dog died. Buster was a 15-year old bastard. He hated everyone. He hated me, his owners, his food bowl, a nearby leaf. If it existed within Buster’s line of sight, it was an object of his singular displeasure.
He growled at me every day for 8 years, and let me pet him only once. To be fair, he most likely didn’t know he was being petted, as he was staring off into space when I dropped off letters and scratched his ears for him. He did eventually look up at me and gave a threatening “get off my lawn” growl.
Goodspeed, Buster. You insufferable asshole. I’ll miss you.
Swift's Corner 