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"Hmmm, who would know...?"

My neighbour moved out recently, leaving an empty house next to us, with a nice garden, massive outhouse/shed thing, raised decking, pond and water fountain. The interior is nicer than ours too. What's to stop us moving our stuff in, swapping the door numbers, and taking up residence there?

I've had a good think, and we live in the perfect spot to do it. The houses aren't numbered sequentially here, so it wouldn't go 1, 3, 2. We live in a small square of 7 houses which leads onto more houses. The houses opposite are meant to have the inbetween numbers - our side is even - but it carries on round the corner a bit and gets slightly out of sync. So it wouldn't be odd for our house to have the neighbour's number.

I know someone who works as an Estate Agent, should I need to swap keys (I'd just get my neighbour to go with the company, he'd play along, he liked us!), and someone who works as a Postman (fancy delivering to my area for a week again, Goaty?). It's just the initial change where someone might notice a difference, but then again they might not. In any case, we can just say we bought it - who would know/care?

The only moral issue is that of money. But our houses are worth the same, and our neighbour wouldn't care as long as he made what he'd make selling his house. It wouldn't be like we were ripping anyone off.

I honestly can't think of anything that could stop me doing this. Can you?

(obviously I'm not going to, but it could happen, think about it douchebag)

I temped as a postie for two weeks the summer before last. It wasn't too bad actually. Turned up at half 6 (bag already sorted for me) and was pretty much finished by half 10. Got paid through til 12 as well.

I quite enjoyed it, even if I was riding a bike that was far too small for me and was badly in need of some air in it's tires. Still, the weather was good, and the only people I saw out were old dears walking their dogs etc.

Dunno if I'd fancy it in mid-winter mind...

I'd hate to be a postman this mid july, the 6th Harry Potter book comes out, I guess it's suicide for the posties to carry all those books so I guess they'll use a van. I think posties should have a postie float (like a milk float), that should make it easier for them.

Curse you xbox live, it's now 11pm and I'm at work in 5hrs.
Ah well, turrists were killed and much teamkilling was had by...well...me.
Whoops

Get down the gym?
I've gotten so ridiculously fit since this job it's not funny.
My ex said "Glad you became a postie, you've filled out nicely". Which apparently means I've lost half a stone from my deskbound, sandwich-at-desk lifestyle I used to lead and have a neck/shoulders like Henry Rollins and have "toned".
I get paid to get in shape rather than pay gym membership for some pseudo-gay experience of lifting things and grunting in a room with other men.

I *really* need to sleep now.

Get yourself down the gym, Goatboy! Just kidding, I know I sure as hell couldn't do your job, I was born to work at a computer and, sadly, that's what I do. I'm good at it, though. I'm not cut out for physical labour, I'm too much of a moaner. I can't even do bar work.

"I was 21 at the time. Imagine turning up to work every morning to the image of middle-aged ladies, and nobody to talk to the entire day."

Sort of the same for me when I was 18, I was sat between two cows who had a go at me all day every day. Had a really canny bloke opposite me, and people to talk to on breaks (five minutes per day and that was it, barely enough time to get to the vending machines and back) but for the most part I hated it.

Now I'm on the "specialist team", which means same money, more respect, and I'm surrounded by mates and fit girls, whom I plan to get to know more on my 21st next Saturday. Oh yes.

monkey_man wrote:
> What about an office where you're the only man, and all the women
> average 40 and are cranky?

Somewhere Crossbob is squealing with delight because someones finally articulated his ultimate fantasy.

That about sums up how it goes though.
For every 10 new starters, maybe 3 last more than a month.
People think you go in at 6, pick up one ready sorted and packed bag and saunter around a few houses before going home.
No.
I start between 4 & 4:15am, and from then until we leave the depot around 8:30 (thanks to idiotic new manager idea) I do not stop - apart from grabbing a fag outside and a coffee around 7am.
And having left the depot at 8:30 having already spent 4hrs working on that day's mail, you then proceed to spend the next 2.5 - 3hrs humping heavyass bags round estates in anything from blazing sunshine to snow and hail/rain/icy wind.
That doesn't include the packets/parcels/recordeds/specials/households.

Example of my walk:
Willowfield - 347 houses, 3 bags, each rammed to capacity and weighing between 16-20kg on a good day.
Woodcroft - 184 houses, 2 bags, each rammed to capacity and weighing between 16-20kg on a good day.
Not only do you have the mail for those houses, but you will have catalogues/magazines/DVDs/books/QVC as well.
My 2nd bag for Willowfield had 134 houses-worth of post. Including 15 Play packets, 8 amazon parcels, 3 studio xmas catalogues and something from QVC.

It's a good job, don't get me wrong, I love it.
But it is bloody hard work, very physically demanding and leaves you tired by 6pm.
It's 8pm now. I'll be at work in 8hrs time. If you're an office worker, this is 1am for you right now and I'm tired as you are then.
But I wouldn't change it for the world.

I know someone who was a postie. He was on the cusp of quitting every single day for the first 3 or so weeks, then he got accustomed to it and claims it's the best job he's ever had.

... No point to that little anecdote...

I can beat that.

Replace middle aged with old age and mental volunteers and you're the only one in charge.

I was 21 at the time. Imagine turning up to work every morning to the image of middle-aged ladies, and nobody to talk to the entire day.

Mine was worse.

Though, the fact it only part-time and I had just ran half drunk to work after having lots of sex beats the image of an old man dying slowly at his desk.