Friday Flash Fiction – Letter Box

~ tidalscribe.com

I must have ticked the wrong box, how else did I volunteer to deliver leaflets for a candidate in the local elections? New in the area, I recalled filling in an on line survey for opinions on what the council should do for us. I had plenty of ideas. I did not tick the box for the weekly gardening in the park, that was my craft morning. I did not tick the box for the Sunday morning litter pick, I was Facetiming Australia.

I did put my email address to avoid revealing where I actually lived, so that was how I came to receive a message from Nathan Nabor, standing for election once again.

Thanks so much for volunteering to deliver our leaflets, your support is greatly valued. I shall bring them round tomorrow evening, let me know if that’s convenient.

I replied Yes, after all he did not know where I lived, that was probably a generic message to all his supporters.

The next day I arrived home from my part time job and there he was on the doorstep with a hefty bag adorned with a ChatGPT improved image of himself.

‘Mrs Gullible, delighted to meet you. New in the area I gather, divorced or widowed?’

I was a little taken aback, was this an appropriate way for a pillar of the community to speak?

‘DFL’ I replied.

‘Divorced from London?’

‘Down From London, making a new start, getting involved.’

‘Excellent, excellent.’

What on earth possessed me to say involved when I had dreamed of a quiet life as an artist? I wasn’t actually an artist yet, but it was worth a try.

‘Is it okay if I come in so I can show you the ropes?’

He was already in the hall with one foot in my little kitchen diner. The small table barely had room for the mound of leaflets and envelopes spilling out of the bag.

‘Letters addressed to engaged voters we have spoken to, leaflets for every home and a map. You’ll need that being new, even our veteran leafleteers need a map.

So it was that I found myself in a strong south westerly blowing straight off the sea, wending my way round steep lanes, among the cottages that had looked so full of character when I was house hunting.  Every front door was accessible only by twisted flights of steps, worn down by generations of feet. Descent was more hazardous than the ascent. No two doors had their letter box in the same position. Occasionally a letter would drop in easily, but most involved a battle with the bristles. One was so tight I thought my hand was stuck. When I managed to pull it out, my engagement ring was missing.  Good riddance, I had tried to sell it, but it was not worth anything. Would the occupant notice a piece of jewellery on their doormat?

The front doors that put up the greatest battles were also the ones with ferocious dogs on the other side. I tried to get out through the front gate before an irate owner opened his front door. I stumbled a few times, how embarrassing if I fell down and broke something. The poor householder who didn’t want a leaflet and was probably cooking dinner, would be confronted with a 999 situation in their front garden.

I knew many householders in this town did not welcome strangers judging by the notices on the door or fixed nearby.

NO CALLERS

NO UNSOLICITED TRADERS

NO CANVASERS

NO JUNK MAIL

NO JW.ORG

WE DO NOT SPEAK TO PERSONS TOUTING FOR BUSINESS, PLEASE LEAVE AND DO NOT RETURN.

I hoped election leaflets were not junk mail, but were they canvassing? I omitted some homes, erring on the side of caution. It was now raining, but I only had one more lane to do, 12 letters, 36 leaflets and a lovely view of the sea, or would have been without the rainy mist rolling in.

My mistake was getting over confident in my new mountain goat agility, the rain was making stone steps slippery. The leaflet ripped as I tried to slip it in a wooden door that had not seen paint or varnish for decades. I stuffed the torn paper in my pocket and started again with a new leaflet. Ferocious barking was followed by bellowing.

‘WHO THE BLOODY HELL IS THAT AT THE DOOR … SHUT UP RUFUS’.

I beat a hasty retreat, but one foot got left behind and the other foot left me behind. I ended up in a crumpled heap against the rickety front gate. My brain said I could get up, but my body disagreed. Please body, don’t tell me I have a broken ankle.

My body replied ‘What do you think that loud crack was and that horrendous pain?’

My brain said ‘Get your mobile phone out and dial 999 before that man comes out.’

But my phone was tucked safely in my back pack and I was lying on my back pack. At that moment the front door opened.

Have you ever been a leafleteer?

Non digital visitors are coming Chez Tidalscribe for the Easter holidays, who knows what will happen to my blog or Mrs Gullible…

33 thoughts on “Friday Flash Fiction – Letter Box”

    1. Thanks Darlene, I think every family had an Avon Lady, my aunt was one. My Mother was a customer, or perhaps it was a one off visit, but I can recall a strange lady sitting in our living room showing Mum strange bottles etc. When she said ‘…and we have some lovely toilet water’ I piped up ‘Is that for pouring down the toilet?’ Mum was very embarrassed and annoyed in a gritted teeth sort of way!

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    2. I got so fed up with this I looked it up once.

      According to the GDPR, they are allowed to assume that you want to opt in to their crap, unless/until you tell them otherwise. The opposite of how it should be, imo.

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  4. I got involved with the Tories in the ’83 election, aged only about 15. I delivered leaflets for them and one young woman told me to stick it up my arse! For good measure, adding “nice and high now”. But I was so young – by the next election I stopped helping them and after growing up a bit I had completely reversed my politics. Seriously, it makes me think that the voting age should be raised, not lowered. And when I see any of these politicians pulled up for doing stupid things when younger, I can generally forgive them.

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  6. As a teenager I was once dragooned into delivering leaflets for my best friend’s Dad who had just started a new business. I remember those letterboxes which bite! My friend and I trudged up and down paths, wrestled with gates and letter box flaps and got soaked. Her dad sat in the car and watched us. I was not amused and to add more injury he didn’t pay us!

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  7. I remember leafleting for the Labour Party in Wimbledon for the 1983 election, not long before I was expelled by the same party for being part of Militant Tendency. I was surpised how hostile some people were, actually opening their door, screwing up the leaflet, and throwing it at my back. Then again, the sitting MP at the time was Sir Michael Havers (father of the actor, Nigel Havers) and he was an old-school Conservative. I did one side of the streets we had been allocated, and my first wife did the other. After three long streets (out of the five allocated) we dumped the remaining leaflets in a Royal Mail post box and went home. Michael Foot lost badly, and Thatcher won with a landslide. Kinnock soon replaced Foot as leader, and it was he who decided to expel a lot of members in 1986, including me.

    Best wishes, Pete.

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  8. My Dad took me in 1952 (age 5) and my younger brother door to door handing out campaign leaflets that had our picture on them with the caption “What Will They Inherit.” One man leaned out of an upstairs bathroom window to shout angrily, “I am voting for Adlai Stevenson.” This confused me because Stevenson was running for President of the United States versus Dwight Eisenhower. My Dad lost his election and I have not been leafleting since.

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  9. I think my experience is worse than leaflets, because it requires direct interaction: in charge with census and surveys… door to door, when internet was not as predominant… Actually it was 20 years ago already!

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    1. When I was a Girl Guide we did Willing Shilling, the equivalent of Bob a Job week the Scouts did to raise funds. One furious lady opened the door and said ‘You’ve woken the bloody baby now!’ Of course when I had a baby I finally got why she was irate. Bob A Job became a victim of health and safety by the end of last century!

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  12. Great story. I was smiling throughout. This brought back lots of memories for me, Janet. My great-grandmother was an Avon lady, so I started knocking on stranger’s doors early in life (pre-school). As a young adult, I sold Parents Magazine door to door. That was an education, trust me. Fortunately, I never fell and broke anything, but I had my pants shredded by a ferocious chihuahua.

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