Let me tell you a story.

Once upon a time there was a mailbox.  This mailbox had a good life, it consisted of standing up straight, connected to a wooden post and always faithfully received the mail everyday of the week except Sunday.

The mailbox's numbers were on exactly square and parallel to the bottom edge of the box.  And there were no spider webs anywhere to be found.  Ever.  The only complaint the mailbox had was that he was lonely.  A lot of his other mailbox friends had a buddy right next to them.  The Newspaper box. The mailbox didn't have one of these buddies, nor were there any cute daisies or snap dragons to keep his post spritely and colorful during the summer and warm during the winter.

The mailbox didn't know what to do with himself.

It's not as if he had any legs so as to plant himself by other mailboxes.

Whatever would he do?

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One day a school bus came to pick up the kids who lived inside the house which was on the property where the mailbox lived.

The school bus got too close and smacked into the mailbox and his overgrown weeds around his post.

The mailboxes straight numbers no longer were straight, and his impeccable paint job was perpetually scratched.  There was no recovering from this embarrassment and destruction.

Alas, he was replaced and never received proper disposal.

Now he lies to waste in a dump, forgotten by all but the oxygen which oxidizes his metal frame.

R.I.P. little mailbox.  You served us well.