Cynicism Defined: Post Office by Charles Bukowski

Book Review
Post Office by Charles Bukowski
First Published in 1971
This Edition Published in 2002 by Ecco (HarperCollins Publishers, Inc.)

This is the story of an alcoholic who lives on a day-to-day existence. Having shuffled his way through tens of meaningless low-paying jobs, Henry Chinaski lands a job at the U.S. Post Office as a substitute delivery man in Los Angeles circa 1970. The hours are tough, the labor is back-breaking, and the supervisors are assholes.

"It was gung ho for a new lman, especially one who drank all night, went to bed at 2 a.m., rose at 4:30 a.m. after screwing and singing all night long, and almost, getting away with it."

Despite numerous write-ups and and drunk-related arrests, Chinaski hangs in tough because he simply doesn't give a fuck about any regulations.

"Then I was called down to personnel at the old Federal Building. They let me sit the usual 45 minutes or hour and one half.
Then. 'Mr. Chanski?' this voice said.
'Yeh," I said.
'Step in.'
The man walked be back to a desk. There sat this woman. She looked a bit sexy, melting into 38 or 39, but she looked as if her sexual ambition had either been laid aside for other things or as if it had been ignored.
'Sit down, Mr. Chinaski.'
'I sat down.'
Baby, I thought, I could really give you a ride.
'Mr. Chinaski,' she said, 'we have been wondering if you have filled out this application properly.'
'Uh?'
'We mean, the arrest record.'
She handed me the sheet. There wasn't any sex in her eyes.
I had listed eight or ten common drunk raps. It was only an estimate. I had no idea of the dates.
'Now, have you listed everything?' she asked me.
'Hmmm, hmmm, let me think...'
I knew what she wanted. She wanted me to say 'yes' and then she had me.
'Let me see... Hmmm. Hmmm.'
'Yes?' she said.
'Oh oh! My god!'
'What is it?'
'It's either drunk in auto or drunk driving. About four years ago or so. I don't know the exact date.'
'And this was a slip of the mind?'
'Yes, really, I meant to put it down.'
'All right. Put it down.'
I wrote it down.
'Mr Chinaski. This is a terrible record. I want you to explain these charges and if possible justify your present employment with us.'
'All right.'
'You have 10 days to reply.'
I didn't want the job that badly. But she irritated me.
I phoned in sick that night after buying some ruled and numbered legla paper and a blue, very official-looking folder. I got a fifth of whiskey and a six-pack, then sat down and typed it out. I had the dictionary at my elbow. Every now and then I would flip a page, find a large incomprehensible word and build a sentence or a paragraph out of the idea. It ran 42 pages. I finished up with, "Copies of this statement have been retained for distribution to the press, television, and other mass communication media.'"

Chinaski's existence is ruled by alcohol, food, women, and horse-racing, in that order. And yet, despite all his flaws, there goodness in his character. As Chinaski struggles to keep the world from swallowing him, Charles Bukowski takes us inside the mind of a cynical alcoholic, in this scathing, comedic, melancholic and superbly-written look at the Post Office and by extension, the world at large.