Confessions of a Royal Mail Operative

I am a Royal Mail operative and very proud!

 I am the owner of a hi-vis vest. Oh, yes I am.

 Not to mention fingerless gloves,

 5 red polo shirts and 2 enormous pairs of trousers, which unfortunately fit.

 I'll not dwell on the fleece, everyone is allowed a mistake. No boots as yet, but will keep you posted.

 And I have saved the best till last -
 a bright orange waterproof coat which I love with a passion. I only take it off to get into bed.
What's the weather? Rainy? It's a day for my coat. And today -bright and sunny? Well, best forgo the fleece and wear..my coat!
You'll be seeing me in the summer wearing nothing but the coat in order to keep cool. OOOOO I luvs it!

Yes, I used to be a consultant... but the arse dropped out of that at approximately the same time as my arse started to get bigger.
 Yes, I used to earn at least 3 times as much , but I can honestly say that I wasn't any happier for it. I love the fresh air, the weather -any weather- the people, the exercise and even the occasional dog.
Dogs are definitely a problem; it's not an old wives tale.
 Dogs are territorial and posties invade their territory.
Dogs bite and posties are hospitalised. Caution needs to be employed.

On my first day with a shiny face and brushed hair and the Ready Brek sponged off my jumper, I presented myself to the boss expecting him to be as relieved to see me as I was to start work. I had tried 6 times to get this, my dream job.

Instead there were embarrassed, blank stares all round as they hadn't known I was coming, followed very swiftly afterwards by panic as I had arrived at approximately the same time as the posties were leaving on their rounds . If The Boss didn't do something quick, he'd be forced to play dominoes with  me till they all came back.
 So they chucked a hi-vis vest at me and a bicycle helmet, introduced me to a very nice woman who looked exactly the same as me and told me to pick a bike cos I was going to shadow her on her round for a week.

Now Royal Mail bikes come in 1 size.
Large.

I am 5'2".

Once mounted (arf arf) I could not even nearly touch the ground and my crotch was under enormous strain from my feet which were, for the most part, dangling. Occasionally they touched a pedal when the moon was in ascendency.
If we had to stop at all on the mile-long cycle, for - let's say for the sake of argument - a level crossing , then I would have to use my upper body strength to lift myself off the seat and drop down like a Chinese State gymnast onto the road IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD and wait for the train to pass.
This would leave me with the dilemma of getting back on without the aid of a small donkey or a milk crate.
 In the event, I plumped for a weird shuffle where I pretended to cycle but in reality was running across the level crossing with 1 leg either side of the bike in the manner of a car full of circus clowns, but without the comfort.

And my hat was wonky.

As the week progressed, I got a bit more proficient on my bike but unfortunately, never mastered signalling. So I nearly got articulated.

 No wolf whistles for Postie Pam not surprisingly. But the upside is should I ever wish to, I can now join Uniform Dating.

PS. If anyone can explain why anyone should want to join Uniform Dating, it would save me from furrowing my brow in puzzlement and the cost of a facelift.
Do you have to wear a uniform, want to wear a uniform or just fancy anyone at all who is wearing a uniform? Is is a fetish thing or a profession thing?
 Is it full of vicars and tarts?
 Do you know anyone who has joined, are they in full possession of their marbles? 
Do they hold a valid hi-vis vest?
 Honestly, I am baffled.