[If you were asked, what is the coolest job title in the world, what would your answer be?]

Every morning after ten, I would faithfully check the mailbox of my apartment for any new magazines I subscribe to or letters from the bank or the University. Anticipating only the best of what is to be there, I walked patiently to the front door and with the key in my hand, I inserted it and turned the lock open. Most of the time, it would be me smiling at the sight of a new Time or Spin, but sometimes it would be a lunatic jumping up and down and pulling his hair off because he only got a piece of junk mail from the Mall for the day.

This morning, I went up to the mailbox and as usual, collected whatever junk was in it and bring them to the living room, when suddenly I realized a piece of metal with encrypted words on the body of the mailbox itself. Not having my glasses with me at the time, I advanced closer towards it. As soon as I could read the words written in black, I was laughing hysterically at myself. Some people who were waiting for the No. 6 bus outside jeered at me from the booth. Not only did I laugh like a madman; I fisted the wall next to the mailbox like it was Joe Frazier.

After the laughing subsided, I uttered the word that made me smile all day long: The Postmaster General. How cool of a job title is that, huh? Not even the most powerful man on this planet would have had that aura of wickedness and mystique to his job title. God! How I wish I were to have this man’s job for a living and parade it to everyone that I meet. The look on their grimacing faces, like a toiling morning toilet session, emptying your bellies of a last night's meal.

"Hi, I am Hennepin County’s Postmaster General Smiths, and you are?"
"Your most faithful servant, your highness!"

Just think now. You have your own van equipped with a humongous logo portraying a bald eagle on a traditional American red-white-and-blue crest. With it, you could park anywhere and anytime and nobody can say anything. You wear your uniform which is a reminiscent of the Yankee Doodle’s Civil War soldier's and that heroic blue hat. Oh, that hat kills me! At your waist hangs that suave bag filled with important government documents and official letters from constitutions all over the world. You are like the scout of General Custard’s army, connecting communication lines and relaying messages from one guard post to another.

And those who adore you! Lonely housewives wait for you at their doorsteps, faithfully every morning, cherishing you with their smiles and fresh morning scents. You bring vital news from afar, to the elderly and the poor and you share your sense of joy of that to those who are left without friends and relatives. The young and innocent, who are in weakness and in sickness, you show them that no matter what happens; life goes on. No matter what the weather will be that day, how strong the wind will blow you hair, how scorching the sun will burn your skin, you will always be there for us, oh Postmaster General!

And all this is for mere pay of 34 cents per letter? Oh, how should I repay your profound sacrifices, my savior!

"Damn you postman, only a newsletter from the Hospital for today?"