Slack Mail

Slack mail is like snail mail, but even slower.

And with Slack Mail, you have a choice. You’ve got standard delivery options—a year, twenty years, a century. Or you can set your own delivery date, as long as it’s slower than first class delivery.

Slack mail is forwarded to warehouses out west where it’s kept in giant holding bins labeled with delivery dates far into the future.

And when it finally arrives, it looks like regular snail mail.

* * * * *

Charlene peered down the aisle that disappeared into the misty distance.
“So, this is all Slack Mail?” she said.
“Yep, it was all my idea.”
She looked at the delivery date on the label, furrowing her brow.
“This one says 2503!”
“Yeah, 500 years is a popular option.”
“But all of these are 2503.”
“Sure, nuclear waste. Everybody sends it out Slack Mail nowadays. By the time it’s delivered, it’s cooled off enough to handle.”
“But 500 years! What if it...”
“Can’t be delivered? Then it goes to the dead letter box. Look out the window, Charlene,” I said, pointing to a nearby mountain.
“Yucca Flats!” she said.
I nodded, pleased with myself. Who would have guessed I’d turned the Post Office into the world’s largest nuclear depository. Too late, I noticed the hypo in her hand.
“This is for your own good, Plute,” she said as Charlie grabbed me from behind.

The next thing I knew I was trussed up, covered with stamps, loaded in a bin headed for 3003. With nothing but plutonium for company.

Was I mad!

But I had a plan. Once I got delivered into the technologically advanced third millennium, I’d buy a time machine and come back.

And then I’d give her a good what for. Charlie too.

Damn environmentalists.