Thirty-three years I’ve had this route.  It’s not so bad having to deliver mail in the mall.  When it’s nasty out it’s a nice break.  And you really don’t pay attention anymore to how silly you look in the post office shorts.  Besides, if you go through the mall early in the afternoon, most people you see are working, too.  They understand.  At least I never had to wear a pirate hat.  And besides, my route's a lot bigger than this mall.  And over all, there’s really not a whole lot to complain about, even after thirty-three years.  Except...  No.  What is really the worst... if worst is the right word.  What I’ve liked the least... disliked the most?  Well, it’s that my own house is on my mail route.  I deliver my own mail.  There’s no wondering what’s in the mailbox.  There’s no being surprised by a letter from your sister.  There’s not even the annoying discovery of sale flyers and other mass mailings.  You already know.  And, you know, when you go down those streets, especially those streets where... well, you know, where it’s mostly older folks.  When you put their mail in the box, the old folks all are coming out before you’re even at the next house.  That’s what they do.  That’s what they look forward to.  The mailman.  And, yeah, that’s a bit pathetic.  But you see, the thing is, I retire next month... and I don’t even have that to look forward to.