Christmas (Kill) Joy!

I love Christmas. Well, until this year anyway. Daily doses of radiation kind of do that to you. I guess it beats the alternative, though.

Since I am a music guy, Christmas is the Holy Grail of songdom. Lots of wonderful tunes, both sacred and secular, have a place in my heart. They also litter the radio landscape. I prefer the older versions of tunes, though some overplayed songs want to make me scream. I used to enjoy “Santa Baby” by Eartha Kitt. It now causes me to change the channel posthaste. Not to sound too Grinchy, but… hey, I am only human!

Since I have a 45-minute trip to radiation one-way, I have been listening to old-time radio shows on Sirius/XM channel 148. This week, they have been playing Christmas episodes of shows from the late 1930s through about 1955. These old shows make my trips seem shorter, and lend a Christmas spirit that hearkens to a simpler time. Maybe I'll talk more about these radio shows in the future.

I usually enjoy visiting retailers this time of year. Shopping in a brick-and-mortar store may seem old fashioned, but it carries a certain satisfaction. Besides, shopping today isn't so much mom and pop shops as it is mega-retailers. My wife and I have always been impressed with our experiences at the I-469 Exit 25 Meijer store in Fort Wayne, Indiana. Not only is the store neat and clean and the staff friendly, but the other shoppers are very cordial and courteous. That is, until my last visit.

I stopped for a few grocery items after my radiation session yesterday. An eggnog coupon coerced me into buying Burger Dairy eggnog. Not like we have anything against Burger Dairy, but a half gallon of Dean’s eggnog was about the same price as a quart of Burger’s. The difference (other than my 35 cent coupon) was that the Dean eggnog expired before Christmas. What an abomination! It is eggnog, not Labor Day beer for a cookout. The Burger eggnog must have the half-life of uranium, since it was good until five years after I am dead. The 35 cent savings just sweetened the deal, so to speak.

A little old lady (sorry if that isn’t P.C.) asked me if the Burger eggnog had nutmeg in it. It did, though it was way down on the list of ingredients. The little old lady told me how much she prefers Burger custard eggnog. She had bought it by mistake on her last visit to Meijer, but said it was the best eggnog she had ever had. She mentioned that could really taste the nutmeg. The slot for the custard eggnog was empty, indicating that it may indeed be a superior holiday product.

My interaction with the little old lady was the high point of my visit. Less than a minute later, I was nearly mowed down by an employee with a cart full of liquor. The young man didn’t even bother to apologize for the near collision. In fact, I believe that he scowled at me. “Get out of my way," seemed to emanate from his very being. Either that, or it was getting near his lunch break and I was slowing him down from his goal of a Steak ‘n’ Shake value meal.

Checkout became my first deliberate unpleasant experience at this Meijer store. Only a few of the ”regular” registers were open. Since they were not offering an employee discount at the self-checkout lanes, I opted for one staffed by an employee. The young lady, and she was indeed young, did not greet me. I only had a few items, all of which fit into three sacks. One bag only contained our Christmas dinner rolls.

I had my eggnog coupon, which the girl told me to “place there” on the check writing stand. I complied. At the end of her tally, I ran my credit card. “Here you go,” she said as she handed me my receipt, and proceeded to very cordially greet the much younger male customer behind me. As I attempted to collect my three sacks of groceries from the carousel, I had to chase the last one around as the cashier bagged Mr. Goodbar’s groceries, turning the carousel, oblivious to my paid for grocery pursuit. I had become the Invisible Man, forgotten but not gone. I nearly said something snide to her, but because of the holiday I held my tongue, grabbed my nomadic sack of groceries, and hit the bricks for home.  

It saddened me to be reduced to a minor inconvenience to a young cashier at a Meijer store. I was coming from prostate cancer radiation session number 22, but was treated as if I had gone to a self-checkout. She had no way of knowing my circumstance, nor did she seem to care. I also realize that many customer service representatives are disrespected, and that occurs even more often during the holidays. I know that my cashier may be having some crisis in his/her life. Still,fawning over the next guy told me that this wasn’t the case here. An old fat guy just wasn’t a priority.

My wish is that we all may treat each other as we would like to be treated. Not just at Christmas, but all year long. I wish you all a very Merry Christmas and God bless us, every one!

  

GO!

As I write this, Christmas is just 11 days away. Christmas feels very different this year, mostly because of the dramatic change in my daily routine. Everything seems to revolve around my daily 45 mile drive to Fort Wayne, Indiana for my radiation treatment. This is followed by the 45 mile drive back home. An hour-and-a-half commute every day is not for me. Since I am only at the cancer center for 30 minutes or less, that drive has developed a non-stop feel to it. I must drink a bottle of water on the way to Fort Wayne, since a full bladder reduces incidental radiation of the bladder. Unlike radiotherapy for other parts of the body, radiation to the prostate also affects the bladder and lower digestive tract by proximity.  

The two preparatory sessions that I was dreading were not quite as expected. Implantation of the markers in my prostate was worse than I thought. The actual mechanics of the procedure were akin to the biopsy, except there was no numbing and rather than removing tissue, two markers were injected into my prostate. I have to say that smarted.

The CT scan was not a biggie. The worst part of that procedure was getting alignment tattoos, and that wasn’t bad at all. I was surprised at how little time it took for my leg casting to set up. The cast seems to be made of a cardboard-type substance.

After one simulated session, it was time for the real McCoy. My first three sessions were the week of Thanksgiving. There is no humility in this process. You get on the table, pull down your pants and place your legs in your custom mold. I am to the point now (18 treatments in) where I don’t think about how awkward it is to pull your pants down in front of young ladies. It is just part of the procedure. I suppose that under different circumstances, one could be arrested for this, or at least sued for harassment.

The radiation technicians are great. They do this all day long, seeing someone different every ten minutes or so. They are just as kind and pleasant as they could possibly be. In fact, everyone at the prostate cancer center is very kind and understanding. They know what you are going through. They know that you are uncomfortable about the fact that you have cancer, and that the treatment and particularly its side effects can be unpleasant.

The sessions aren’t too bad. You verify that those are your leg molds (your name is on them), that the information on the screen is indeed you (the photo is a dead giveaway), and then you lie on the table. After dropping your drawers and getting aligned, the techs then head for a safe area to control the machine for your treatment. Each session starts with x-rays and adjustment of the table. The actual radiation sessions consists of being shot with the beam from seven different positions, each approximately 20 seconds long. I am told that the amount of radiation varies in each position. The entire process from walking into the chamber to leaving the chamber takes approximately 10 minutes.

Wednesday is “doctor day.” After treatment, each patient sees the oncologist. I like the doctor, though he pulls no punches. I am starting to get some skin irritation from the radiation, and he was kind enough to share, “It’s going to get a lot worse before it gets better.”

In addition to the skin issues, fatigue is becoming a concern. I take a nap when I get home, though sometimes life gets in the way. The wife’s car had some mechanical issues this week, so in addition to my 90-mile trip, I had to take her to and from work. This eliminated my nap. Due to holiday activities and other obligations, I have been driving somewhere just about every night.

Because of all of this driving coupled with the fatigue and the usual busy December schedule, I am not feeling very festive. Actually, I am feeling kind of depressed. The focus of my every weekday is that drive and treatment. I do not look forward to it. Now that some side effects are becoming evident with only about a third of my sessions completed, it is more challenging to maintain a positive attitude.

Maybe I am just feeling sorry for myself. What I do know is that I am looking forward to this all being over with. One really nice thing about Christmas this year is that I get four glorious consecutive days where I don’t have to drive to Fort Wayne. Four days without radiation - that is a real gift this year!   

  

On Your Mark, Get Set....

I have decided to eradicate my prostate cancer via radiotherapy.

I visited my urologist for a detailed report on my prostate cancer diagnosis. He felt that since I was a (relatively) young man, treating the cancer now was the way to go. Treatment options were as benign as “watchful waiting,” which is quite popular in some circles today. The downside to this approach is the yearly horror and expense that is a prostate biopsy. With a $6,500 out-of-pocket max and a $2,500 deductible on our health insurance (which is already costing us over $15,000 per year just for the privilege of having it), the approximately $3,700 cost of an annual biopsy and pathology would be detrimental to our bank account.

Fortunately, while I was teaching I opted for a cancer insurance policy, which I kept after retiring. It will turn out to pay for our out-of-pocket costs for radiation therapy, plus an extra $500 which will help with gas.

In an attempt to get everything done this year, I decided to go with the prostate cancer center affiliated with my urologist. It turns out that with all of the preliminary exams and tests prior to getting that first of 45 zaps, it is impossible to get all of my treatments this calendar year. Next year, a new $6,500 out-of-pocket max kicks in. Fortunately, the radiation benefit on our cancer insurance also resets in a new calendar year.

You might have noticed the crux of my blog entry so far has been the financial aspects of treating prostate cancer with radiation. That is because the total cost of treatment is $76,890. When folks complain about the high cost of medical care in this country, here is a prime example. If I did not have the cancer insurance to cover my out-of-pocket costs, I would have been on the hook for $13,000 over the course of two calendar years. This does not factor in the health care premiums my wife and I pay.

My first appointment at the cancer center began with 20 minutes of filling out paperwork. Much of this information was already on file with the main office in the other building, but I was told I needed to fill it out anyway. Next came a very lengthy meeting with a nurse who explained everything I would be experiencing, possible and likely side effects, and of course, the cost. Actually, the cost was the first thing she mentioned. They took the liberty of running my proposed treatment through my insurance to ensure I was covered. They also had my cost for the year figured out. She took her time to answer all of my questions, and she helped me feel at ease.

Next I met with the radiation oncologist. This gentleman is on a five-year contract with the cancer center in Fort Wayne, and is originally from Texas. He explained more about the treatment, problems patients often experience, and the like. He then gave me a very thorough examination. Actually, it was much more thorough than I expected. It seems like every time I go to a medical appointment in Fort Wayne, my rectum will end up being the real destination. In this instance, the good doctor was trying to determine my individual prostate location as part of his pre-treatment assessment.

The doctor gave me a lot of literature to go over, including articles that he had authored that were published in medical journals. Things like that instill confidence. 

I go back for the next procedure in two days. Fiducial markers will be implanted in my prostate via a procedure much like my biopsy. The only difference is that instead of taking tissue samples out, gold markers will be implanted in my prostate. These provide a target for the radiation beam, sort of like William Tell’s apple. They will dwell in my prostate for eternity.

The CT scan sounds innocuous enough. However, it will be the true chamber of horrors, and is scheduled for a week after the markers are implanted. For this procedure, I must show up with a full bladder. A full bladder is also a requirement for each radiation session. This lifts the bladder a bit and helps avoid collateral radiation.

In the CT scan portion, dye is forced into the urethral opening and a plug is inserted in the rectum. GAH! Anyhow, these provide reference points during the imaging. I’ve got to say, this sounds like a modern form of torture. I would be lying if I said that I was looking forward to this visit. I fear this procedure more than anything, like the Ghost of Prostate Procedures Yet to Come.

Tattoos are then placed on my lower torso to help line up the radiation gun and table for the coming radiation sessions. I will also have a cast made of my legs that will be used as an alignment tool for each session, plus to help me stay still during the approximately seven minute sessions.

I will update my progress in future blog entries. Right now, I just want to get through the next week and a half! Yikes!

Good News

Bad news travels like wildfire,

Good news travels slow.

         - "Bad News" by Johnny Cash

The doctor called yesterday to inform me that I have prostate cancer.

My wife and I happily hugged at the news!

Good news is in the eye of the beholder, if you'll forgive the mixed metaphor. A word of explanation is certainly in order, isn’t it?

 The absolute best outcome from my prostate biopsy would have been that I was cancer-free. Given recent blood tests (PSA, 4K assay), indications were that I likely had prostate cancer. The 4K assay result was that I had about a 50/50 chance of having an aggressive cancer. As a result, I fully expected to have prostate cancer.

The good news was that I have a slower growing type of prostate cancer. Of the 12 samples that the doctor took during my biopsy last week, only two were cancerous. 

My wife and I have an appointment in late October to discuss treatment options. Radical prostatectomy is always an option with any cancer diagnosis. I guarantee that that option is off the table as far as I’m concerned!

The doctor only mentioned one treatment option in our phone conversation. That was radiation therapy. He said that radiation had improved a lot over the years.

I trust this urologist. We will listen carefully to the possible treatments and make an informed decision on how to proceed.

I have always been a glass half-empty kind of guy. Not really a pessimist, but what I consider to be a realist. Still, it seems ironic to be celebrating a cancer diagnosis. Retired life has certainly been interesting!

A Biopsy Story

Ah, push it - push it good

            - "Push It" by Salt-N-Pepa

DUE TO GRAPHIC CONTENT, READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. SORT OF.

I had a prostate biopsy yesterday.

First, I must say that you really shouldn’t believe everything you read on the internet. I was so apprehensive about this procedure based on the horror stories I read online that I was nearly shaking by the time of my appointment. It sounded like everything that could go wrong, routinely does go wrong. In reality, it is more like consumer reviews of a product or store. You see a few positive ones, but many buyers had a bad experience and they want the entire world to know!

I am pleased to report that my experience was not nearly as bad as what I read. Don’t get me wrong. It was unpleasant. It just wasn’t as nightmare-worthy as I came to expect. In fact, it was just another routine medical procedure.

I had to drive 45 minutes to Fort Wayne, Indiana for this adventure. I felt as if I was driving myself to the laboratory of the Marquis de Sade. Actually, I really like my urologist. I have been visiting him for many years due to benign prostatic hyperplasia, also know as BPH. Some guys’ prostates enlarge as they age, causing a reduced urine stream. Like me, most of those men take medicine daily to help them pee better.

When my wife and I arrive, we waited for about 20 minutes before a nurse called me to “come on down.”  I am surprised to learn that my wife is allowed into the crime scene... I mean, exam room. I think she enjoyed the whole procedure, actually. Revenge is a dish best served cold.

The attractive young nurse who called me back explains everything that will soon occur, usually occurs afterward, and has me sign a paper saying that I’ve been warned that other things could also occur if things go awry. She then tells me to strip from the waist down.

I did not hesitate. Some guys might have been uncomfortable in this situation. Usually, I would have been uncomfortable in this situation! Please remember, I am currently terrified, so normal reactions are off the table. I meekly comply, hoping that she is not simply the painful opening act.

The young nurse then asks me to bend over and grab the exam table. What? She then explained that she was giving me two shots of antibiotic, one in each side of my posterior. OUCH! This was not starting out well. Merciful Heavens, she IS the painful opening act!

After positioning me on the table with my butt hanging off the right side, the nurse went and fetched the doctor. The doctor comes in, makes some small talk, and goes to work. Here we go….

He told me that I was about to experience the worst part as he inserted the medical appliance. I cannot think of anything else to call it.  Now, in the letter they send prior to this event, they tell you that the ultrasound/biopsy tool is the size of a finger. They obviously mean the Jolly Green Giant’s finger. As he rudely inserted the device “where the sun don’t shine,” my wife noted that my eyes widened and my jaw opened in a gaping “Oh!” Needless to say, it was NOT a pleasant experience! However, as my urologist mentioned, this was the worst part of the procedure.

My urologist kept me apprised of everything that he was doing, and what to expect. A slight pin prick was felt as local anesthetic was injected into my prostate. He mentioned that after five samples, most patients have pretty much had it. His plan was to take 12 samples of my prostate for pathology. Hurray.

He warned me that he was ready to capture the first sample. A click indicated that a needle had been injected into my prostate at a location selected from the ultrasound view of my gland. Happily, I felt nothing! I even asked the doctor if he was successful in removing a core. He looked to the nurse who was placing my innards into a specimen container, and she acknowledged that indeed a little piece of me was now in her hands, and it sure wasn't my heart!

The dread vanished. This was NOTHING!  Five more followed in identical painless fashion. However, when he started taking samples from the other side of the prostate, I felt a small pressure each time. Not pain, but simply pressure. He explained that this was normal. It was no biggie for me – still a cakewalk.

Soon I was done. The doctor congratulated me on how well I did. He did not give me a lollipop though. Hey, a shot of single malt Scotch seemed appropriate, but I didn’t get that either. He left the room, as the nurse swabbed my behind several times with baby wipes. This was a strange situation, but I guess it was no stranger than the rest of this process. I then got dressed, thanked the young lady, and my wife and I beat a hasty retreat.

We then went to Steak ‘n’ Shake for a late lunch. We love Steak 'n' Shake!

Most men experience blood in the urine and stool for several days following a prostate biopsy. I had neither. Wahoo! I am a little ouchy, buy nothing major. 

I am now awaiting the results of the biopsy. Most find this to be the worst part. Do I have cancer? Am I out of the woods? Sure I want to know. But really, I just wanted to get through the biopsy procedure!  

Deja Vu

                                                                    "I`m back in the saddle again."

                                                                                            -Gene Autrey

I am newly re-retired. Although I said I would never substitute teach at my old school, I just finished up a two-month stint there, teaching band and choir. Though a lot had changed, a lot was still the same. That is both good and bad. It is like the educational equivalent of Schrodinger’s Cat.

It all started in November of 2017 when I received an email from the young lady who replaced me when I retired three years ago. She explained that she was expecting her first child, and that her due date was early April. She wondered if I would be interested in directing the final couple weeks of the musical. After considering this massive lifestyle change, I agreed.

Within a week or so, I received a phone call from the high school principal asking me to come out to school to talk with him and the band director. Apparently, the teacher and/or her husband and possibly her doctor thought that the stress of the high school musical might be too great on the mom-to-be, and I was asked if I might be interested in splitting the musical. This was fine with me.

Next, the principal said, “While I have you here, would you at all be interested in subbing?” I thought that yeah, I could fill in for six weeks or so while she was bringing new life into the world. Then I was informed that this subbing gig would be for the rest of the year… a two-month return to my old job. The school offered to pay for my background check and for my substitute teaching license. The current band director would take care of a concert in March, so I would not be concerned about performances. After all, I would only get sub pay for 8:00 AM to 3:00 PM. I agreed.

A couple of weeks later, I received another call from the principal, asking to me to come meet with them again. This time, the band director said that the kids wouldn’t be ready for a concert before she went on maternity leave, and would I do a May concert. This would be for grades 5-12. With a sigh, I agreed. The principal said he would get me a gift card for doing the concert.

The musical was a lot of fun. I realized how much I missed directing the high school musical. The kids in the show really wanted to be there, they took direction well, and had a lot of fun performing. I had spent the last 12 years of my directing career in the control booth. I spent this show backstage and saw firsthand what a great time these kids were having.

I later discovered that the current occupant of my old job hated doing the musical. It was very stressful for her, and I learned that just before she went on maternity leave, she resigned from the position of musical director. At the May school board meeting, I was hired as the musical director for next year’s show!  Two hours per night, four days per week for seven or eight weeks… yep, I can do that!

I had taught all of the kids currently in grades 7-12 in some capacity during my teaching career. However, I had not had any of the 5^th or 6^th graders. As always, my favorite class was high school band. The kids played well and worked hard. Since I had high school band first period, the day usually went downhill from there.

The 6^th grade band members were a great bunch of kids to work with. Every student in the 6^th grade was still in band. They were hard workers and just fun to be around. The 5^th graders were a little more challenging, but still did a good job.

The high school choir met twice a week before school. Obviously, I wasn’t getting paid extra for this group. The 7^th and 8^th grade choir was a new class for me. It met twice per week on the days that the 7^th and 8^th grade band did not. It was comprised of a few volunteer band kids (girls), plus all of the junior high kids who were not in band. There were a couple of boys in that group that thought it necessary to share whatever notion popped into their heads. Some days, that wore a bit thin. As a group, I enjoyed working with them.

This brings me to the one class I really didn’t miss in my retirement. 7^th and 8^th grade band was all that I remembered, and more (or maybe less is more accurate). Since all junior high kids were in band or choir, there were a lot of boys in this band who were there simply because it was perceived as less lame than choir. This band had 54 members. Now, I had groups that large during my career, so that wasn’t a biggie. However, there were 12 percussionists! Most of these 12 were 7^th grade boys, and their talents certainly didn’t lie within the realm of the musical arts. A couple of the male 7^th grade wind "players" simply held their horns and faked it. The last couple of weeks I was there, the 7^th and 8^th grade band was a class I did not look forward to.  

The spring concert went very well. I saw a lot of parents and grandparents who told me it was great to have me back. It really was good to be back, and while I enjoyed the concert experience one more time, I was relieved when it was over.

The timing for my return to my old job was excellent, since it was also the final couple of months for the district’s long-time French teacher. We have been friends for close to 30 years, and she told me several times how great it was to have one of the “old guard” there for the close of her career. She was also the National Honor Society sponsor, and I had the high school choir sing at the induction ceremony. They had not done that since I retired. I also played piano and sang for the first time ever at an NHS induction, performing Michel Legrand’s “The Hands of Time.” Madame was very pleased, and I was glad to make her final NHS induction a little more special.

The concert had come and gone, and I had yet to receive a gift card. I must say that I felt a bit slighted by this. That is, until I notice that my substitute teacher pay had increased by $20 per day for the entire month of May!  It turns out that I ended up being paid $320 for the concert. Wow – that is pretty good wages for three hours work. However, I am guessing this included teaching the before-school choir class, NHS induction, numerous instrument repairs, financial record keeping, etc. Still, it was a very nice gesture and certainly made me feel appreciated!

They say doing something once again that you haven’t done in a while is like riding a bicycle. It comes back to you pretty quickly. My bike was a little rusty and needed air in the tires, but I got back into the groove within a few days. By week three, it felt a little bit like I had never left.

I also did a little substitute teaching before the long-term gig at my old job. One of the elementary principals I had during my teaching career called me a couple of times to teach fourth grade at his new school. Another old colleague is now a high school principal. He called me a couple of times, too. Who knew high school English was so much fun?

Next fall, I look forward to doing a little bit of subbing. One or two days per week would be just fine. It turns out that while it’s good to be “back in the saddle again,” it is better that I can get off the horse anytime I like. After all, who needs saddle sores?  

Going Postal!

Please Mister Postman, look and see
Is there a letter, a letter for me?

                                    Lyrics from “Please, Mr. Postman"

The United States Postal Service is not what it used to be, and that is not a good thing. Back in the day, the USPS delivered mail in a timely, efficient manner. The cost was reasonable. Yeah, their operations lost money every year, but since it was subsidized by the American taxpayer, most of us weren’t too concerned as long as we received our mail. They continue to operate in the red to this day, so nothing is new there.

Service has suffered for the sake of budget. Since we cannot depend on the USPS to deliver our mail in a timely manner, we must convert to automatic bill pay for utilities, insurance, and other important time-sensitive remittances. This results in even less revenue for the postal system, since the billing statement is no longer being mailed, nor is the payment.

Here are some recent experiences we have had. Last October, the wife mailed out  checks for our homeowners insurance premium, credit card payment and electric bill payment a week and a half prior to their due dates. They were all mailed on the same day. They had a minimum of ten business days to reach their Ohio destinations from our little post office on the western side of the Buckeye State. 

I began receiving emails from our home insurer warning of the approaching payment deadline. To make a long story short, we ended up paying our homeowners insurance premium online with a credit card two days late. The electric bill and credit card payment were also late, as it took 14 business days for the payments to reach their destinations. Yes, 14 DAYS TO GET TO ANOTHER ADDRESS IN OHIO! This is outrageously poor mail service. We ended up receiving a check back from our insurer since we paid our premium twice due to the USPS’s dismal service.

All of our area's mail is taken by a contractor to be sorted in a processing center in Columbus, Ohio. I can’t be certain, but it appears that the majority of problems occur in Columbus. Some of the issues are due to poor workers and practices, and some are certainly the result of dishonest employees. For example, I always send my sister a $25 restaurant gift card for her birthday. In 2016, she never received her birthday card or the gift card. I decided to send her cash for her most recent birthday since it would be much harder to detect by feel. Guess what? It arrived safely, since the postal employee thieves couldn’t feel the gift card inside.

A friend recently commented that coworkers collected money for an ailing employee, and sent a greeting card containing a $100 prepaid VISA card. The greeting card arrived, sliced open at the top, and then taped closed. The VISA card was missing, of course. Fortunately, they kept a receipt and cancelled the card before it could be used.

We all understand that the postal service gets busy at the holidays. It shouldn't be as big of a deal as it once was, since the volume of first class holiday mail has been decreasing each year. Knowing that the post office cannot be trusted with gift cards, we sent my sister and my niece some cash tucked inside their Christmas card this year. We mailed them on December 15, and they received them on December 29. It took two weeks to get from one side of Ohio to the other. Oh, I almost forgot – there was no postmark on either card! Hey, we were just happy they arrived with the cash intact!

We received a Christmas card yesterday. Yep, we got a Christmas card on January 16. It was postmarked December 21, and was mailed from just across the Ohio River. You likely have your own horror stories if your mail is processed though Columbus.

As bad as the USPS is, I recently applied for a job there. Sure, I’m retired, but working four hours per day at our local post office here in Podunk was a dream job. It was six days per week, but the job was putting mail in the post office boxes, selling stamps and money orders, accepting packages, and all of the other window service duties at a one-person postal operation. You got to help people and interact with the public. It sounded like THE ideal retirement job to me! And, it paid $16.67 an hour!

I had to create an online profile, apply for the job online, and take an online test. I passed the online assessment, and was invited to take a competitive test in Fort Wayne, Indiana. I passed this proctored online exam, and received an email that I had an interview right after Thanksgiving.

Notice that everything so far has been done online. All correspondence has been via email. Anyone else find this to be ironic? Well, so was the Podunk post office job. While the duties and hours described for the hometown post office were what I had in mind, the successful candidate was also expected to assist in sorting mail at other post offices within the 458XX zip code area. If it was just occasional extra work, it might not be so bad. In the interview email, it pretty much said that you WILL work whenever and wherever we need you in addition to your hometown post office gig. The previous postal clerk said she had to work at 4:30 AM sometimes, go home for an hour, and then do her local post office job. During the holidays, she had to work Sundays at the largest area post office sorting packages. While a young person might find this appealing, this retired teacher did not!

I have a long-term substitute teaching job coming up in a couple of months. It is at my old school, too. It will feel strange to go back to my old job for a while, but this job is more to my liking. No evenings, no weekends, and knowing exactly when and where I will work. All correspondence between me and the school has been done electronically or in person. I suppose that as long as I don’t have to depend on the USPS, things might just go smoothly.