I am the service adviser for a garage. I'm also the keeper of keys and grounds, customer service, the manager, tech support, and occasionally a technician/grease monkey. Basically, everything that happens here flows through me at least once, often multiple times. I love my job(s). The last year has been absolutely fantastic, truly. Also, it is a near-constant amusement to me, the things that I have to research and learn about in order to keep this business running. Today, for example, I found myself trying to figure out what mailbox I purchased. You see, our previous mailbox was no spring chicken to begin with, and it's stationary (yet colorful) life was finally ended by a hit-and-run driver. We shall remember it fondly. The devastation was... breathtaking. Perhaps, almost beautiful. Now, admittedly, setting off on a quest to find the perfect replacement mailbox was not high on my priority list. After a brief consideration of my options, I opened Amazon and simply picked one that was inexpensive, black, and vaguely tough-looking. After a few days wait, and after seeing a USPS worker almost die laughing at the ironic realization that the post office wouldn't deliver my mailbox to me because I had turned my mail off because I didn't have a mailbox, our new mailbox arrived. And as far as being inexpensive, black, and vaguely tough-looking goes, it -excelled-. There is really no other word for it. In fact, it really was excellent in those regards. So we pounded a post into the ground, and bolted the box to the post, and life (and the mail) returned to normal. One fateful day, I went out to fulfill my shiny new mailbox's sole purpose in life, and noticed scuff marks. The poor little guy had been clipped. Two or three days later, more scuff marks and a broken handle: clipped again. I was morbidly, all-consumingly, entirely and irrefutably mildly disinterested in the idea of reordering a mailbox, and therein entered my amusement: besides scuff marks, all I needed was a handle, and for that, all I needed was to know what I actually bought. And so, that's how I developed the need to learn about mailboxes. A quick check of the backside gave me a name (Gibraltar), and a quick Google led me to a website. A brief run through their product list led me to a model, and a snappy foray into their parts catalog led me to a dead-end. I am currently awaiting a replay from their help desk. Having survived two near-death experiences already in such a young life, I have decided that our worthy new friend deserves a title. After much deliberation, including though-provoking discussions and some deep, deep soul searching about "roses by any other name," I have creatively chosen to call it "Franklin." As I look out the window at the business next door, I see a rusted mailbox, obviously old, that is either taped or strapped to a crooked pole in an extraordinarily, almost mindbogglingly lopsided manner. And in so doing, I believe I see the future of our much beloved Franklin. My hopes are high. And I really do believe Franklin's resolve is sound. You know, I went into this without much in the way of expectations. But I think I can safely vouch for the durability, the tenacity, the steadfastness, and the (insert adjective for "tough" here) of our dear Franklin. Cheers to you, Gibraltar. Keep up the great work. And cheers to you, Franklin. Many happy returns.
