Yuletide Cheer for the Average Bloke

     He doesn't know how he ended up in this line of work.
     It isn't the kind of job anyone would dream about as a child, there are no great aspirations or positions to be working towards. When he went to college, he imagined a life spent doing something "real", something that mattered. He would never have imagined he'd be walking door to door, delivering mail to a bunch of random people. A bunch of random people who didn't give a damn about him.
     He is faceless and nameless. These people who he interacts with, they don't see him, they only see the truck bringing their mail. As long as their precious packages, cards, and bills arrive on time, that's all that matters. God forbid he be late once in 365 days, for he knows the wrath that would be brought upon him by the city manager's office. The people who complain wouldn't ask if their local mailman was okay, no, they would only want to know why their damn mail hadn't been delivered yet.
     Some days, he seriously entertained the possibility of quitting. He had no girlfriend or social life to speak of, had no real passions... At the end of the day, he went home to his cat. While he had enjoyed his bachelor's stint with Tiger, it had long ago lost its pleasure. There had to be more than only Tiger and a day in, day out existence.
     At least, these are the thoughts his mind is filled with as he walks across the street corner. He walks up the steps to the porch of the house, rifling through his bag before pulling out their mail. It's cold and his fingers are numb, as fingerless gloves are required in this profession. His long pants have barely kept the cold at bay, and his windbreaker is only blocking a fraction of the chill. Maybe he should have bought a hat.
     He is preoccupied with thoughts on hats (hats with tassels, hats with sloping curves, hats with bills), and doesn't notice the screen door of the house open. He doesn't notice the girl walk out. It is only when she says, soft and quiet as if she's nervous, "Excuse me?" That his head snaps to attention.
     "Yeah?" He replies. Oh, great, just another complaint on the long list, another person to bitch and moan about how crap my service as a mailman is. Maybe I'll just spit on one of the envelopes and they'll probably just think it's some kind of condensation from the warmth of his van and the cold outside...
     "I made you these." She thrusts out a paper plate. In plastic wrap on the plate are cookies, and brownies, and peppermint bark, and little muffins. He pauses, unsure of what to do or say. He reaches out, gently taking the plate from her with agonizing slowness. When he looks up at her, her face is red. She holds out a twenty dollar bill. "That was supposed to stick to the bottom of the plate, but I guess I didn't hand it to you right..."
     "Why are you doing this?" It comes out before he can stop himself, he is just that baffled. That blown over. He isn't sure what to say or what to think. Does she understand how much this means to him?
     "Well, my mom taught me when I was growing up that everyone deserves consideration and thanks for whatever they do. Even if maybe we wouldn't think about their job much normally, we should be thankful. She got sick, so she couldn't make the stuff herself, but she talked me through it. I forgot you're new on this street, we do it every holiday season." Before his eyes, against all probability, her face manages to get redder. "Merry Christmas!" She squeaks before quickly rushing back into her house.
     He stands in shock. The he hears an expletive, and feels a bubble of laughter buoy in his chest. How could such a nervous girl swear so colorfully?
     She peeks out from behind the door. "I forgot to get the mail," she mutters.
     He smiles without words and hands it over to her. She gives him a grateful smile before disappearing back inside. He stands for a moment on the porch, staring at the treats on the plate, a crumpled twenty in his hand.
     When he moves away to finish up his route, there is a Christmas song on his whistling lips, and joy in his heart.
     Maybe his job isn't so bad after all.