Tim Marx didn't want to be a mailman. At least not at first.
But it was 1982, the recession in full swing, and it was either the U.S. Postal Service or retail. And the University of Maryland graduate wanted job security. So he drove to a Washington D.C. post office, took a test, scored well, submitted to a physical, passed it and waited for an opening.
Within two years, he was delivering thousands of letters to congressmen, judges and those who work for them. Then his wife found a job with the U.S Justice Department in Tampa. After delivering mail over three winters of snow and 20-degree temperatures, it didn't take much convincing for Marx to pack up and move to sunny Florida.
Twenty years later, Marx is in Tampa's Hilldale Annex Station placing letters and periodicals into small cubbyholes — "casing" in post office-speak. Short and stocky, he moves quickly, launching envelopes from his fingers into the sorted slots.
"I kind of didn't want to stay with the postal service, but the years go by and suddenly — you're still here," says Marx, 52, wearing the trademark blue shorts and shirt (one of 10 identical outfits he owns).
"You graduated from college, and you have all these dreams, but …" He pauses. "It's turned out good."
This month is Marx's 23-year anniversary with the USPS. And for a man who has braved two decades' worth of sweltering summers and frenzied Christmas seasons, he is determinedly optimistic.
"I'm constantly thinking — it's just one more year to retirement," he says.
Thanks to pop figures like Cliff Claven of the TV sitcom Cheers and some well-publicized incidents of workplace violence, postal workers are one of the most stereotyped of government professions. Cops get paired with doughnuts; postal employees get beer and semiautomatic weapons.
Marx doesn't fit these stereotypes — he's hardly a time bomb waiting to go off — but he does concede that working for the U.S. Postal Service can be stressful. Even in sunny Tampa Bay, delivering the mail can be an exhausting profession, physically and mentally. And the challenges go a lot further than dogs or bad weather.
As I stand behind Marx while he sorts the mail, other postal employees wander by, curious at my presence. Some of the old-timers tell me of common ailments like bad elbows, sore shoulders and pained wrists brought on by years of lifting and sorting. Then, under their breath and the watchful eye of two supervisors, they grumble about "management." Their jokes have a bitter edge.
"He was 7-foot-tall when he started," jokes Ray Garcia, Marx's adjacent sorter.
Garcia, a self-described "disgruntled employee," has the wry resignation of a man who has worked for the government too long (34 years to be exact).
"I wouldn't recommend the postal service to anyone," he warns.
Marx tries to be a little more diplomatic.
"They want you to be quick, but it takes time to deliver the mails, so sometimes we butt heads," he says. "It's like a family — not everyone in a family gets along. The same thing here."
Today, after an hour of casing, Marx will travel about 16 miles, by truck and foot, to deliver mail to nearly 370 businesses or homes in the 33634 zip code bordering the Veterans Expressway, Rocky Point Golf Course and the Dana Shores neighborhood. If all goes well, Marx will get all the express mail out by noon, deliver the other mail on time and get back to the office by 4 p.m. But it doesn't always go well.
Sometimes, another carrier calls in and the station must split up the absentee's route. Or there can be a vehicle breakdown or an unhappy "customer" delaying him. Then there are the normal hazards of the job: inclement weather, wasp nests and the occasional rattlesnake in a mailbox. (He delivers rain or shine, with one exception: Carriers are forbidden to work during lightning storms.)
All the while, Marx must keep a lookout for possible terrorists seeking to hijack his mail truck, fill it with explosives and enter a building undetected to detonate (a very real threat, according to his supervisors).
By midmorning, Marx finishes "pulling down" — post office-speak for loading up his mail after sorting. Marx works efficiently, even though he doesn't get paid extra for his sweat — raises are negotiated nationally and not by merit.
Before leaving the station, Marx must scan a UPC code by the door with a handheld scanner he keeps at all times. This is the "message service point," one of many located on his route, meant to track his progress throughout the day.
"It's another way management can control us," Marx mutters. "I'm waiting for the day they put GPS in the trucks."
He loads up his truck with what looks to be nearly 200 pounds of mail. Marx says he's seeing more mail now than ever. One reason is immediately visible in the day's load: Red Netflix envelopes stand out among the AARP and Sears catalogs and first class letters.
(His worst delivery? A package filled with concrete to an engineering company.)
Marx's first route goes through curvy roads off of Eisenhower Boulevard and the Veterans Expressway. He slips mail into businesses' roadside mailboxes without ever leaving his vehicle. Then he starts his deliveries to a few office complexes on his route, chatting up secretaries between his runs. In a race against the clock, Marx checks his progress every half-hour.
"You have to be good at time management," he says.
Within a couple hours, Marx is delivering to the homes of the plush Dana Shores subdivision. It's where he spends most of his day and encounters his three pet peeves: unleashed dogs, inclement weather and people who don't understand the difficulties of letter carrying. If he doesn't hear "Why can't you get here earlier?" then it's "How long does it take for a letter to from point A to point B?"
Then there's the mail itself.
It's not uncommon for Marx to deliver baby chickens, chirping incessantly, to businesses (for medical research) or homes. But that's nothing compared to another seemingly benign piece of mail.
"Sometimes you'll get these little musical cards," he says, annoyed. "Sometimes they go on and on. I will go to that house first just to get that thing out. They'll drive you nuts."
But it's in these residential neighborhoods that Marx feels the most fulfilled in his job. From births to deaths, marriages to divorce, Marx says he "sees the whole life cycle out here."
"In this job, you build relationships with people," he says.
Marx has over a hundred more homes to deliver to when I leave him, plus a short hike to 55 houses whose mailboxes do not line the street. After scanning his last MSP, carrying back any undelivered mail, returning his vehicle and clocking out, he'll be finished.
And one more day closer to retirement.
This article appears in Nov 29 – Dec 5, 2006.