So for today's casual commute, I jump into a Celica with a postal worker driving. Or at least he has the uniform on (the shorts, and in this weather!). Are you working at the post office in SF I ask. Well, no, I just stole this uniform for its fashion factor, he tells me. Snickery boy. There was method to my madness; the hubby retired from the Laurel Post Office about 50 feet from the pickup, and that would be a lot closer than the post office in The City (South SF, to be exact). But he thought Oakland was just not the place for him, except to save on rent. Send more letters with stamps, would you be so kind . . .