Political Mail Tsunami 2018 - Lies, Damn Lies, and Statistics

By Mel Carriere

I'm a couple weeks late reporting my analysis of the 2018 mid term political mail season, but the deep paper cuts gouged into my skin from the razor thin edges of those shiny cardboard fliers are just now healing over to where I have recovered normal use of my hands for common everyday tasks - like writing and for giving my evaluation, on a scale of one to one, of the driving skills of the guy who tailgated me on the freeway today.  I could have slit my own wrists with the knife edges of those useless scraps of paper, which must have defoliated all the forests between here and the Arctic Circle, and there were times I wanted to.

But the exhausting grind is over, and I suppose I should give thanks for that when I slice into that bird this week. It will be stuffed fatter than normal because of the overtime from working two days off and the double time I got casing mail when I should have been tucked in sawing logs in dreamland, instead of aiding and abetting the sawing down of hectares of old growth forest so we can find out why your opponent is unfit for office just because he picked his nose at a PTA meeting.

Here's a little bit of heresy to make you squirm in your skivvies.  We can't even blame Donald Trump for the biggest mass decimation of trees since Agent Orange cleared the South Vietnam jungles.  Here in California, an open primary state, there were very few Republicans on the ballot, but our normally green Dems were more than willing to shed their leaves and let the lumberjacks turn the woods into pulp mill fodder, in the interests of one party democracy.  Although our most prescient pundits predicted heated Congressional battles stoked by the embers from the Don's flaming hair, the endless reams of propaganda I had to sort through every day were mostly produced for city council elections, plus a slate of propositions longer than all the begats in the lists of Old Testament patriarchs.

Although I do not generally approve of fat-shaming, I declare fair game on those political candidates who appear to have fattened themselves at the taxpayer trough.  Taking cheap shots from behind the protective barrier of this disclaimer, I now feel safe to report that the political battle producing the greatest number of casualties among the stately, centuries old California coastal redwoods was between two candidates I can only call fat and fatter.  Both of these office seekers were so engorged on their own smugness that the combined photo shop skills of a crack team of computer geeks working around the clock from their mothers' basements were unable to trim them down onto a standard flat dimension mailer.  They were forced to resort to sheaves of paper roughly the size of movie posters just for a single head shot.  All postal mailing requirements were suspended for this endeavor, and the rustle of folding paper in post offices throughout our state pinged the seismograph at Cal Tech.  

For roughly two to three weeks I was forced to endure the disagreeable visage of both of these corpulent candidates, firing accusations of obesity at one another, something along the lines of "I'm not fat, you're fat," answered by "I'm fat, but you're fatter."  Not exactly engaging political discourse in the spirit of the Lincoln-Douglas debates.

For these reasons I confidently declare the California 2018 mid terms to have produced the worst political mail ever.  You say Mel, how could you make such an outlandish declaration? Every political mail season is bad, this one was no different.  Time has merely healed your psychological paper cuts from previous elections. In response I say that you are fat, and also that I have statistics to prove it, along with some lies and damn lies to pepper your potato.

I am a stats nerd, probably because of some congenital defect from toxic metals in the Rio Grande flowing through the tap in my birthplace of El Paso, Texas.  I keep spreadsheets on nearly every aspect of my life.  While you are having fun throwing them down in some sports bar, I am cataloging your drinks consumed per hour and the progression of your obscenities launched at the referee as you approach complete inebriation.  This is my idea of fun, and you can form your own opinion of me accordingly.  So naturally I document the pertinent numbers on my postal route, including average street and office time worked.  Therefore, I can present you with real numbers that prove how exceptionally burdensome the 2018 fall election season was.

To arrive at my results, I pulled the data three weeks prior to the June 5 primary, and three weeks prior to the November 6 general election, the approximate periods in which the political mail was gushing like a Tijuana sewage break into the Pacific Ocean. Except, comparatively speaking, the primary was the trickle off an iceberg slowly floating southward, whereas the general election was the flood caused by that same berg ripping open the hull of the Titanic.

By way of baseline, the average non-political mail delivery day on my route for 2018 to date is 7.70 street, 1.14 office.  This was actually much lower prior to the fall, but has been boosted by holiday advertising and a corresponding uptick in parcel volume.

In contrast, the June primary average was 7.73 street, 1.34 office.  The political mail volume barely made a difference on the street, and resulted in 20 extra clicks in the office.  Altogether this added up to 23 additional hundredths, or about 15 minutes for those of you who can't do postal math.  At the time it seemed like it sure did suck and we were all glad it was over, but in light of the barrage to follow, to quote the poet Morrissey, William it was really nothing.

Okay kiddies, buckle in because the ride gets bumpy now.  The fall numbers were a staggering exponential leap, a dwarf sun going supernova.  The street time for this tree killing orgy was 8.29, while the office total for the shore to shore river raft of felled trunks was 1.82.  Altogether this surge from the drain pipes of our lovely rotund candidates mouths added up to 56 clicks street, 48 clicks office, 1.04 total, above the June primary.  Add 23 clicks to that and you get 1.23 over non-political average, roughly an hour and fifteen minutes.

It was so bad that our oft ostrich emulating supervisors couldn't even bury their heads in the sand and pretend it wasn't happening. They were throwing around blank check overtime slips like ticker tape at a Super Bowl victory parade. All of the sudden management remembered what full tour OT was, and I was working all my scheduled days off plus several hours double time during this period. The Postal Elves were busy after normal closing time, way into the wee hours, casing up those knife-edged fliers, so sharp you can shave with them. On the street I was sometimes juggling 5 to 7 bundles at my CBUs, a very curious circus act, throwing all opposing parties into the same boxes and watching ruefully as customers, in one swift motion, without prejudice or party affiliation, tossed every candidate and proposition into nearby trash receptacles.

The circle of life thus rolls on, from tree to paper, which then goes directly into the compost pile to fuel the growth of new seedlings, eventually to be chopped down and ground into pulp to display the pulpy faces of future electoral participants, most of whom will, of course, decry the evils of deforestation.

Mel doesn't question, Mel just delivers the mail.  Then, being a postal soldier of Fortune, he cashes the overtime check. 

Please share how your political mail season went in the comments section.

Photo from Wikimedia Commons, by Tony Hisgett

Postal Tsunami Musical Guest

The Smiths - William It Was Really Nothing