After decades of mismanagement and neglect, service broke down completely in Chicago in 1966. "The sorting floors were bursting with more than 5 million letters, parcels, circulars, and magazines that could not be processed," Lawrence O'Brien, the Postmaster General at the time, would recall somewhat poetically. "Outbound mail sacks formed still gray mountain ranges as they waited to be shipped out."

And here I thought Terry Pratchett's Going Postal was fiction.