Duck, Duck, GOOSE

When I was 18 and preparing for college, I opted to take only 15 credits, rather than the typical 18. Being a high-school wild woman, I wasn’t sure how much academia I could handle. With fewer credit hours, I could have more time to do well with each class or get involved with extracurricular activities.

Shortly after school began, I realized paying for college was more important than partying and fitting in, so I got a job, and then another.

One position was working for my university’s Alumni Relations. The other job was a no-brainer: I was a female mail person—kind of transgender. I sorted mail delivered to my 10-story dorm, first by sex—men, women, other—then by floor, before sliding pieces into the appropriate slots.

One day I sat in the mailroom on a shelf that also served as the base for the bottom row of mailboxes. I was bent over, flipping mail into piles as if I were dealing cards. I was on the men’s side, masked by a wall of mailboxes, and I could hear the muffled sounds of a few guys talking behind me.

With a jingle of keys, I heard a key being inserted into its hole. As quick as a prairie dog popping out of its hole, then dashing back into hiding, a hand came through a slot, pinched my rear, then its owner ran down the hallway with a howl.

copyright © 2008 by Auntie Eartha. All rights reserved.

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