Some of the nation's 330 carriers make their rounds by car, motorcycle or bicycle. Montero prefers to walk. After collecting his mail, he rides a public bus 15 minutes to the start of his 4-mile route in San Jose's northern suburb of Tibas.
His first stops are small businesses along a busy commercial strip. These are a snap because their signs speak for themselves. Neighborhoods are trickier. Many residents appear to be logistically challenged and colorblind to boot.
Homes whose addresses state they are 100 meters, or 328 feet, from a landmark might be half that or double that. Homeowners who repaint rarely bother to change the descriptions in the addresses they've filed with banks, utilities and retailers.
Montero showed a letter for someone who supposedly lives 164 feet south of a beauty salon. The home is actually north of the shop.
"People don't even know where they live," he said with good-natured exasperation.
The guy whose house is "next to the Miranda Furniture Store" got lucky. Montero, 59, knew that the property changed hands years ago and now houses an appliance retailer with a different name.
Most homes on Montero's route don't even have mailboxes, but he doesn't take offense. He always knocks on the door or rings the bell before he slides a letter through the ubiquitous security fences. If he can't find an address, he collars neighbors and quizzes business owners.
"Someone might be waiting" for that letter, he said, turning serious for just a moment.
He acknowledges that adapting to a new system won't be easy after all these years. But the changes can't come soon enough for one of his customers, 80-year-old Yolanda Cerdas.
She scoffs at the notion that there is anything poetic or sentimental about needless disorder.
"How can a tree be an address?" Cerdas said. "Bad habits. That's our problem."
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marla.dickerson@latimes.com
Times staff writer Alex Renderos contributed to this report.
