Post Office

Oh man, oh man, oh man. Oh sir Charles Bukowski. What a world to live in. This is one of the greatest books in American literature that I have read. It even warrants its own genre: the Bukowski.

How do I even begin. Bukowski writes with so much simplicity that the everyman would start to think they could write a novel and make it. Reading this was a breeze. The first chapter alone gets you hooked. It all started with:

“It began as a mistake.”

The mistake being: working at the Post Office on one fine Christmas morning. And he is so committed, so loyal to the Post Office, compared to all the women he has been with. No matter what, you can always find him back at the fucking Post Office. This reads like a monologue from a drunk man whispering in your ear, voice gnarly and thinned from all the scotch and whiskey. The short chapters, sometimes ranging from one to four pages, give you that quick hit of gratification, and before you know it, you are halfway through the book. How does that happen? How does life through the lens of a dirty old man just enrapture you?!

Fucking words of wisdom, littered throughout. On job security:

“All right now, you've got a good job. Keep your nose clean and you've got the security the rest of your life.”

“Security? You could get security in jail. 3 squares and no rent to pay, no utilities, no income tax, no child support. No license plate fees. No traffic tickets. No drunk driving raps. No losses at the race track. Free medical attention. Comradeship with those with similar interests. Church. Roundeye. Free burial.”

The book peaked during his marriage to Joyce. Could have lived with everything, but of course, she had to be crazy: the subnormal dog, the noisy parakeets, the geraniums. After it ended, it was never the same for Chinaski again. And when he got back to Betty, the saddest part was learning that he slept with her without touching.

“...and when we went to sleep, I didn't put my feet on her body or she on mine like we used to. We slept without touching. We had both been robbed.”

Never have I felt sadder for a drunk than that moment. Welcome to the world of Charles Bukowski. Definitely reading more of his stuff.