Dear William “Brent” Morse,
You know I have a thing for mailmen. Always have, always will. My infatuation with postal carriers is not due to their toned calf muscles (although that certainly helps), but their diligence and commitment. When I see my mailman striding valiantly through stinging hail or stifling humidity to ensure timely delivery of my O magazines and impulse Etsy purchases, how can I not fall in love with him a little bit? But you, Mr. Morse, do not fall into this category. You might have worked as a mailman in Kentucky for 5 years, but “worked” is not the correct term for what you actually did.
It seems that instead of delivering mail on your route, you preferred to cut out early and stash all the leftover letters and packages at your mother’s house. Your dead mother’s house, more specifically (how charming!). When mom’s place started getting a little too crowded, you rented a storage unit, just to keep up your mail-stashing habit. And stash you did: 44,900 pieces of mail, to be exact.
You might have been able to keep this all going, too, if it hadn’t been for one of the owners of the storage facility, who noticed all the US Postal Service crates in your unit one day when you left the door ajar (too lazy to even shut the door all the way, William? Sigh). He called the cops, and now you’ll be spending the next 6 months in jail, where, if there is any justice in this world, all of your mail deliveries will be diverted or delayed.
I just don’t see how this relationship can continue in the face of all this deception and your blatant disrespect for the US mail system. William, we’re breaking up.