You've heard of Superman...

Over in the valley

when the sky's dark blue

travels one little Paperboy and

occasionally two...

"Hey, Bunny, wake up!"

"Huh...?"

"Time to go."

"Right, yeah, okay, I'm up."

That is a typical 1:30 A.M. conversation for me.

Just before the new year, Dashman asked for my help with his paper route early the next morning. He was feeling a bit under the weather and was looking forward to nothing but an all-nighter, and wondered if I'd be willing to help him out.

I agreed "just this once."

At one thirty the next morning a LED flashlight shown into my room and a hand shook my shoulder. For about five seconds I was annoyed. Then I remembered, Oh yeah, papers.

Because it was a cold night and there was a substantial layer of snow on the ground we dressed in layers of warm clothes. I followed Dashman blindly out to his truck and climbed in. He stopped at a nearby Super America to pick up some coffee, to keep me awake, and a bag of Bugles "The Breakfast of Paperboys!" Then we headed out on the freeway to the paper depot.

By the time we reached the depot I was beginning to feel the effects of the caffeine and so was sufficiently awake enough to smile politely at the old couple across the table from us when Dashman introduced me. I still don't remember their name.

The paper truck arrived with the beeping of lights and the opening of doors. Immediately the depot erupted from the quiet murmurings of acquaintances greeting each other, into a screeching maze of clanging metal carts, shouting men, thudding paper bundles and pushing bodies. I stayed by our table and watched as Dashman dived fearlessly into the fray.

He emerged a few breathless minutes later with a couple bundles of papers. After looking at our eight maps, recording stops and starts and correcting the number of papers needed for each map, Dashman and I began to count the papers in the bundle to make sure we had enough. After ascertaining this fact we pulled out the slick orange bags and began bagging the papers. Dashman was faster than I and finished his stack of papers first. While I finished up he ran off to another part of the depot to pick up the eight "Dinky-Winkies" that we needed (so named because we only received eight cents for them as opposed to the typical 22). Hereafter they shall be called DW's.

After the DW's had been rubber-banded, we loaded up the cart and rushed out to the truck. Dashman loaded the buckets into the back then, while he returned the cart, I grabbed the papers we needed for map 1 and stuffed them onto the dashboard for easy access. The few extras I stowed by my feet. Dashman returned a second later and we reved up the engine and headed out onto the freeway again.

When we reach the route, Dashman likes to say that we're "On station" and has me record what time we arrive so we can compare it to the ending time and see how fast we've done the route. Then, the real fun begins.

We have often joked how fun it would be to have one of those things that people shoot T-shirts out of at baseball games to shoot the papers at houses. As we don't, we end up having a great pitch. Dashman is by far better than I am at this, but I pride myself that I have landed a few "perfect placements" as well. Not to say we haven't gotten a few bad throws as well, a couple have even landed on the roof. One memorable paper got stuck in the gutter and Dashman had to lift me up with a stray hanger to pull it out again. Another paper landed on the roof, we both said "No...YES!" as it slid back off again. And in the far off chance that one of the papers lands in the bushes, we both have trusty flashlights to help us go fishing.

Map 1 is mainly comprised on the ordinary suburban houses, most of them easy to pitch to the front door. Map 2 is all townhouses that required one of us or the other to jump out and run up a long sidewalk to reach. Map 3 is commonly referred to as "the creepy map" as they are all brown, wood-sided houses with poor lighting and the most creepy incidents. Map 4 is the shortest map with only about 6 papers, but all of them have to be pitched STRAIGHT UP to get over the townhouse stair-railing. Map 5, more townhouses, no railings, richer neighborhood. Map 6, strangely akin to map 1, but with a couple townhouses for good measure. Map 7 has ALL townhouses, STEEP driveways and NO salt on the roads! And Map 8, quite a bit like maps 1 and 6, but with more culdesacs than all the other maps put together.

Dashman has a head for numbers and can remember most of the houses that way, but I, alas, am no good at that so we have come up with a naming system for them. For instance, over the Christmas season many people had decorations up and the first house we named was "demonic drummer boy" so named because of a light up plastic version of the hero of the famous Christmas song, except this version happened to be smiling evilly at me the first time I delivered and so was named out of my fear. Other names include "the cow house" with a cow-colored mailbox cover, "Bat-cave" a cave-like driveway with a bat-shaped bow on the garage, "Red Rover" because he has a red rover in his driveway, "Ballet house" because of a little fling I have to do with my foot to get enough momentum, "Jack Sparrow" one of the few houses I have to walk across the lawn and in my efforts to make as few tracks as possible I end up using the rather erratic walk of that famous pirate, and of course "Elvis" the last house on map eight, which got it's name because I said "Elvis has left the building!" one night we were making particularly good time, and the name stuck. But the most famous by far is the "paw house" this one got it's name because it is one of the few that we are directed to place the paper inside the screen door. The first time I was to deliver, I was scared, and just as I stepped out of the truck Dashman quoted a line from the movie Cats and Dogs: the revenge of Kitty Galore, "Don't worry, I'll hold your paw!" Whatever scary thoughts I had been thinking of, his unexpected voice scared them right out of me. After realizing what had happened, I laughed all the way to the door and back.

Would my story be complete without PP? I don't think so! PP is the affectionate name we gave to the deliverer of the rival paper, named after the initials of his paper. He has a rather sloppy way of delivering, just driving past houses and randomly pitching papers at the driveways. Dashman and I live by the Paper-person code of honor, that sadly many of our compatriots have let fall by the wayside, THE PAPER MUST BE DELIVERED TO THE DOOR, unless otherwise directed. Our nightly goal is to finish the route first, but having followed the code. Sadly, we have yet to achieve this goal, but there are many more chances to win.

When our fuel tanks start running low (both in the truck and in us) we like to stop for a refill at the local PDQ station. The night lady knows us by now and is quite friendly, even letting us return a package of cold medicine one night without a receipt after we'd bought the wrong brand. She can also make fresh apple fritters that, with a bottle of Sunny-D, is a perfect pick-me-up half-way through the route.

After experiencing all this just once I was eager to go again, and gladly took up a role as a paper person. Perhaps some day another career will call my name, but until then, if you hear the smack of a paper against cement some night, you can rest assured that your friendly neighborhood Paper-person is on the job.

Signing off,

Bunny.

Tune in next week for: "The Tale of Two Kitties"