The Secret Lives of Your Neighborhood Usuals

There are people you see every day in your neighborhood but you know almost nothing about them. Oftentimes, they seem mysterious because you only know their jobs. The Spectator’s investigative team, a.k.a. the Humor Department, dove into the secret lives of two people you may have seen around town: the mailman and the barista. We always deliver truthful, reliable, and unbiased information for the benefit of the student body—definitely no libel or slander.

The Mailman

Every day, you see your mailman or mailwoman delivering mail to each address, but what do they do next? Go home? You couldn’t be further from the truth. 

I was walking down the street one day, minding my own business. It was 8:00 p.m., and I needed to drop off some mail at the post office. 

I wasn’t sure why, but I felt unsettled. I glanced over my shoulder, checking for Mr. Simon because I was wearing Airpods. I made sure to look up from my phone and interact with absolutely nobody (Principal Yu, I’m trying my best). I heard laughter 200 feet away, but when I looked in that direction, I only saw silhouettes. So I moved closer. “Those rats are gonna get beat up as bad as the boys’ third-floor bathroom. At least they’re lucky we aren’t sending them to a line at Ferry’s; they would be crushed either way.” I knew these postal workers were discussing Stuyvesant High School (perhaps they were former students) and I needed to investigate to deliver the truth to the student body.

Some other Humor members and I began spying on post offices at night. We could not believe what we found. One night, we were observing a mailman when we saw a large rat poke out of his jacket pocket. This repulsed my crew so much that they abandoned our mission. Alone, I followed the mailman all the way to an abandoned parking lot where loud disco music was  playing. I suddenly understood why the mailman was talking about rats: the postal service was having a citywide rat-fighting competition! A boxing ring appeared in the center of the lot. Inside was a mischief of rats fighting, their guts spilling out as they put blood, sweat, and tears into the annihilation of their own species. The chaos was like a 1:00 a.m. cram session at Stuyvesant. The mailman dropped his rat into the ring and all the other postal workers began to bet. After the fights were over, the postal workers mailed the rats to the Starbucks near Stuy, since the mailman who won had gambling beef with a barista. This is why you’ve never seen a rat after school, by the way.

The Barista

Principal Yu once told me: “I couldn’t be more appreciative of the barista at the Starbucks a block from my home. She always makes me my Caramel Frappuccino Macchiato Mocha Pistachio Argentinian Milk Rewards drink every day.” I asked him if it’s delicious, and if I should try it to become a cool kid—but he said it tasted like rat urine. The only reason he orders it is to look “hip” when he opens the door on the bridge entrance for all of us Gen Z-ers. This allows him to maintain his image and stay in power without fear of a junior revolt over the lack of a junior bar. 

Our investigation unearthed the shocking revelation that the barista in question is a professional poker player. Yes, she knows when to hold ‘em and when to fold ‘em, but she never walks away unless she has to go to work. She posts clips on her Twitter handle “@caramelmochapokerplayer.” She even posted a video of her fighting a mailman at a table in Atlantic City because his pet rat ate all of her chips. Sound familiar? Yup, it’s our good old friend from before.

I managed to get a comment from Ms. Caramelmochapokerplayer: “They call me the Queen of Atlantic City. I can’t thank Principal Yu enough for his emergency funds. If I ever lost all my money in one night, I would still have dough coming in the next day from his awesome tips!”

Now you know what your neighborhood mailman and Stuyvesant area barista do in their secret adventures. I hope that Principal Yu doesn’t feel threatened by the Humor Department inspecting his grip on power. Even more, though, I hope that the mailman and barista make amends.