IN THE POSTAL ZONE : GOING POSTAL : Working with Stupid People.

I work with a man who is sports obsessed. I don't deal with him too much since I got on another tour. His name is Alfred. But deep down inside, he's just a Fred. He looks like Larry Fine, only uglier.

When Hurriane Floyd was rambling up the coast and inching into the land, I was watching the single large screen television that was in the lunch room. Along with two dozen others, we were following the path of the hurricane, if it was going to hit Delaware, when and where.

Alfred came in and switched the channel to a Baseball game.

Everyone protested. "Come on, this is baseball, not a weather report!" he said. "This is important!"

I recall that a year previous, I noticed his car was a drop top, and the top was down. I went to inform him that it was going to rain. He started to cuss me out for some imaginary problem he has and wouldn't let me speak. "Okay," I said, "I give up." "Don't talk to me! Don't ever talk to me!" he shouted.

The rain was a cloudburst, and about three inches fell in an hour.

For two weeks after that, people kept asking him , "Has your car dried out yet?"