JUNK MALE – Return to Sender (Letter carrier)

"What have you forgotten?" George Reade asks.

If I knew, it wouldn't be forgotten.

The letter carrier reaches into my satchel and hands me one of those colorful circulars no one has ever read before tossing out.

"Remember, all in one motion," he says.

Properly placing the circular inside the mailbox requires a flip with the right hand that folds it in half. But my right hand already is palming the rest of the mail for this house (which the flip needs to place on top of, not inside, the circular).

My left side is even more occupied. In that hand are the rest of the envelopes for La Luna Circle, and balancing on that forearm are the bulk mail and magazines.

"For God's sakes," Reade says after my flopped flip, "you wouldn't want to see it messed up like that if it was your mail."

Neither snow, nor rain, nor heat, nor gloom of night stays these courageous couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds.

That sentence was adapted from writings by the Greek historian Herodotus, who lived nearly 2,500 years ago. Although it is inscribed on the former New York City General Post Office, it has never been the motto of the U.S. Postal Service.

That could explain why the mail to my apartment complex is never swiftly completed, and why the Henderson Post Office invited me to deliver to Reade's 413 homes this morning.

"These fell out of your hand," Reade says, handing two envelopes to me.

By the way, he calls today an "easy" day.

"You should have seen yesterday," he says.

Reade, 59, was raised in Los Angeles' South Bay, where he applied for work with the police, fire department and post office 35 years ago.

"I was looking to get into something, because I was getting married," he says.

Reade chose the first profession to call back.

"It's good work," he says. "You're not gonna get rich, but you're always gonna have a paycheck." Letter carriers start at $38,000 a year -- plus Christmas tips, if they're lucky and don't deliver just to grouped boxes. They top out at about $50,000, after about 12 years of service.

Like most routes in the valley and the United States, Reade's is of the "park and loop" variety. A truck is parked, then a "loop" of mail is carried up the even-numbered street side and back down the odd-numbered one. (On "mounted" routes, carriers deliver from the truck directly into the curbside box, which is why the driver's seat is on the right.)

Reade doesn't allow me to drive the truck.

"There's only one seat," he says, choosing to completely ignore my request to sit on his lap.

Between 8 million and 12 million pieces of mail are delivered in the valley every day -- by more than 1,579 letter carriers who can't possibly be more strait-laced than Reade.

"The security and sanctity of the mail is of the utmost importance," says Reade, who uses his blinker to signal a left turn on a street that only goes left.

"I'm the safety captain at the office," he says. "The safety captain can't get into an accident."

My day began by sorting letters in the back of the post office. Postal workers call this "casing." Reade cases from 7 to 9:30 a.m. every day, after which he hits the streets until anywhere between 3:30 and 5 p.m.

"It depends on the volume of mail," he says, adding that there are two degrees: "mail" and "a lot of mail."

I was told to report for work at 10 a.m., so my mail already was cased. Reade offered my services to a still-casing fellow carrier.

"Hey listen, can you do my whole route for me?" asked a hopeful Robbie Woog, 44.

After 12 minutes of placing envelopes into tiny slots that match the addresses, I began to appreciate how serious Woog probably was. Small fissures opened in my sanity -- the same ones that appear when I organize my tax receipts. This part of the job basically is to organize a desk that, the next morning, will always once again be disorganized.

"The mail never stops!" the "Seinfeld" character Newman once complained. "It's relentless. Every day it piles up more and more and more. And you gotta get it out. But the more you get it out the more it keeps coming in.

"And then the bar code reader breaks and it's Publishers Clearing House day!"

According to a 1994 study conducted by the CDC's National Institute for Occupational Safety and Health, the postal service is associated with no greater risk of violent crime than any other industry. However, there is not one documented case of a disgruntled florist walking into a flower shop to "go floral" on former co-workers. Even on Valentine's Day. (I Googled it.)

"No job is perfect," Reade says. "Besides, the ones that do that are a very small percentage."

Incidentally, Reade is a Marine Corps veteran who toured Vietnam in 1968 and 1969.

"I know," he says. "I fit the profile."

Reade does not appear disgruntled, however. In fact, one might describe him as perfectly gruntled.

"I enjoy the public," he says. "I like being out with the people on my route."

Reade's favorite day on the job occurred just last year, when he met someone who will one day grace a U.S. postage stamp.

"Four guys in suits jump out of this one vehicle, with two more cars behind them," he recalls. "A guy steps out of the middle car and sticks out his hand and says, 'Hi, my name is Jimmy.'

"I said: 'Yes, Mr. President. I know who you are.' " (Carter was in Green Valley stumping for his son Jack's unsuccessful U.S. Senate bid.)

Of course, then there are windy days, the days after major holidays, and packages that require signatures at houses guarded by little dogs.

"It's always the little ones that bite," Reade says. (Letter carriers all carry pepper spray.)

Overall, Reade does not regret retiring in 18 months. The livelihood of the letter carrier is being threatened -- and not only by me.

"Electronic mail has cut into first-class delivery quite a bit," he says. "And so many people are paying their bills online now -- even my wife."

There's also opposition from the government, which is considering the privatization of certain routes.

"If you hire somebody for a hard job at minimum wage," Reade says, "you're not gonna get the job done the way professionals can."

But it's my threat that Reade's concerned about right now.

"This is not my normal pace," he says, glancing at his watch for the third time on La Pluma Street.

I didn't think I was quite as speedy as Mr. McFeely from "Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood." But I'm surprised to learn that I've taken four hours to do what Reade does in one. Even if I left now, he wouldn't get home until sometime between 6 and 8:30 p.m.

"Please don't be offended," he says as he motions for me to return his satchel. (The best way to fire a postal worker is delicately.)

At least no one can say I didn't deliver on this job.

Watch video of Levitan delivering the mail at www.reviewjournal.com/video/fearandloafing.html. Fear and Loafing appears Mondays in the Living section. Levitan's previous adventures are posted at fearandloafing.com.