The newspaperman delivers newspapers to us and
many other houses in the neighborhood. I hear his
motorcycle every morning when he comes to deliver the
daily paper. He comes promptly at 6.30 a.m. every
morning, rain or shine, unless something extraordinary
prevents him from doing so.
He is so regular and prompt that I do not need any
alarm clock to wake up. At six-thirty, the neighbors' dogs
start barking as he arrives and I know it is almost time to
get up for school.
Though he comes every day, I do not get to see him. I only pick up and read
the newspaper he had left at the door. I only see him once a month when he comes
to collect the bill.
Promptly on the first of each month, at six-thirty in the evening, he shows
up with his bills. This time he rings the door bell and I usually have to go and
pay him. My mother will have got the money ready one day earlier and instructed
me to pay him.
He never smiles. He merely gives me the change, put the "PAID" chop on the
bill and goes off to the next house. It appears that his regular, almost
regimental, rounds of newspaper delivery has
made him behave like a robot. He is very efficient, very prompt and does not
smile. That is certainly very robot-like.
Nevertheless, I appreciate his reliable service. For one thing, I am never
without the daily paper. Some of my friends complain that their newspapermen are
very unreliable. Not so with mine, he is the best.