The Post Box
by Lynn Cromarty

Emptying the post box was always an event of mixed concerns. You only had to look at it to be gripped by a self preservation instinct that went back as far as the origins of man and then some.

Unlike English post-boxes, Australian post boxes were located outside the house usually at the end of the drive. This had several considerable downfalls as far as I could see.

 1.       Security – anybody could just take your mail

2.       Spiders

3.       Spiders!!!!

Ok, so spiders were not one of my phobia’s, but I didn’t like them and to be perfectly honest had no interest in overcoming what seemed like a perfectly natural aversion to things with that many hairy legs. In addition was the important consideration that spiders in Australia could be either large or deadly. Why they could be only one or the other was in my opinion, a ridiculous lack of foresight on the part of nature since it clearly would be useful to see death coming. However, Australia appeared to have missed a few of these seemingly vital evolutionary steps, I mean what the heck was a platypus all about?

Still, it wasn’t the odd, yet strangely cute, and highly venomous platypus that concerned me when I looked at the post box, but spiders. That our post box seemed to have been carefully crafted as the perfect spider home was not something I could overlook. For a start it was brick, old, right next to plants, trees, and other natural spider habitats. It had a nice opening on one side which presented a perfect ‘bug’ catching opportunity, was sheltered from any rain, safe from birds, and was only disturbed once a day at most! How could any right minded spider refuse such deluxe accommodation?

That, as the first member of the house home, I had somehow unwittingly become the designated post box emptier was unfair. Still, I did not shirk my duties, and after several weeks of extreme caution in handling the post box and the post, I had fallen into the complacency trap. I convinced myself that heavenly influences, the time or year, or even my suburban location gathered to bring about the spider-less state of my post box.

Such was my relaxed state of mind one Thursday when I emptied the post. As always I opened the flap and had a good look inside, just because I had never seen a spider yet did not mean there were none! No visible spiders, I put my hand in and grabbed the mail, pulled it out and noted several letters,  a free local paper, a Bob’s Mowing service leaflet, and a ‘Sorry we missed you’ postal notice.

Nothing unusual there.

Grabbing my rucksack I headed in, dumped the mail on my desk for processing, and went to put the kettle on for that all important ‘back home’ cup of tea.  While the kettle boiled I went to get changed and stowed my rucksack.

The tea was made in no time, and after a quick rummage in the fridge, I decided it was going to be spaghetti bolognaise for dinner. Thus armed with a lovely cup of tea and happy thoughts of food I returned to my desk and the post.

The letters were bills. Did anyone actually send anything interesting anymore?

I shuffled them to the side disgruntled and took a sip of tea while shifting to the exciting local paper, which was actually half the size it appeared to be when folded since it contained a small Amazon forest worth of advertising leaflets. Ok, I could push them aside too, and get on to the good stuff! ‘Local residents in uproar over footpath closure’ it didn’t get much more riveting than this! There was a nice picture of what I assumed to be an unhappy resident next to the footpath in question, which it turned out was being demolished to make way for a new supermarket and shopping complex. There was a handy map, and a large lizard... 

I looked at the lizard.

The lizard looked at me.

Yes it was really was there, a real lizard in my paper.

For a good minute there was no brain activity at all on my part other than accepting that the lizard was on my paper and yes I had read half the first article before realising this!

Ok, the lizard needed to be outside. This seemed the obvious conclusion. How would I get it there? The minute I moved it was sure to go racing about like a demented thing, hide in some inaccessible crevice where it would remain while I searched for something to coax it out, by which point when I returned it would have mysteriously disappeared, so that I would not sleep for days and days. It would eventually turn up dead when I least expected it, and where I least expected it!

This alarming scenario replaced the numb blankness like an express train emerging form a tunnel of darkness into the light.

Ok, the lizard needed to be outside, let’s not get ahead of myself.

I stood up and picked up the paper, carefully, but determinedly, walked over to the door, opened the door, put the paper on the floor outside. This whole process occurred without any lizard movement! The moment that paper touched down it was off like a shot straight over to the garage up the wall and into a crevice.

I left the paper there, went back to my tea, and re-thought my earlier theory on the lack of spiders in my post-box.