They are two grown men, both over 50 and performing a rather repetitious job, but neither of them act like it. Instead, a Formica counter top doubled as a stage for their daily performances.

"Mike the Mailman" and "Don the Mail Guy" were, allegedly, at work in the McCallister Building on a recent Friday afternoon.

But you'd never know it. Within a half-hour time frame, Don Plotts and Mike Herr have: 1) advised a male student that he take his girlfriend out to dinner more often 2) asked a female student if she'd like to know how to make her favorite drink -- Plotts said, "You know, I was a bartender for 15 years..." 3) spent a good 30 seconds covering someone's envelope with about 20 "Happy Birthday" ink stamps, and 4) celebrated the arrival of a customer wearing nice sneakers by banging on a tin dish and holding up his trademark sign that reads, "Nice Sneakers."

More accurately, they are holding court, volunteering personal advice and acting like all-around goofballs. And yet, for the most part, people laugh, and they like the showmanship.

"I come here because I detest other post offices," announced an elderly man next in line.

"Well, you want to imagine what it'd be like with one person here?" Plotts asks the line of people filling up the room.

They won't have to imagine anymore. As of Wednesday, Plotts will no longer report to the University Park Post Office. On Feb. 10, the United States Postal Service sent Plotts a letter stating that his current job would be abolished before the end of the month, and he would be reassigned to a station downtown. Instead of a standard workweek, he would have a shift on Saturdays.

While this would be hardly a noteworthy occurrence at most Post Offices, in this case there was a petition of protest awaiting signatures outside the office within a day. It had more than 500 signatures by the second day, when Luke Stedrak (senior-education) mailed it to the district office in Erie.

Soon afterward, a box appeared on a nearby ledge with instructions for submitting a complaint to the Postal Service via an 800 number or on the Internet.

To an outsider, the level of support they've received might seem as puzzling as it is touching. In a pie chart of one's weekly activities, what a small slice trips to the post office must represent. Why, then, are some students so concerned with such a small portion of life on campus?

Then again, they are certainly unusual postal workers. Their antics have earned them admiration rarely seen in service jobs. They've become quasi-famous postal clerks with a certain cachet they'd never have if not for their charm.

Postmen, for example, aren't typically known to host a "Penn State King of Chili Cook-off," hold a monthly "Cookie of the Month" contest, or plan an annual bar tour for 40 or more seniors who sign up just to say they threw a couple back with Herr and Plotts. Nor is it necessarily in their job descriptions to help deliver mail to Interfraternity Council/Panhellenic Dance Marathon dancers or taxi through the streets in the back seat of a convertible every fall as part of the homecoming parade.

"I don't think you'd find any university in the country where the post office is something you'd even talk about. Our Post Office is like ... cool," Plotts said. "When you come to Penn State, they tell you about the post office, right during your first orientation, when they're walking you and your parents around campus."

Plotts and Herr have always taken the idea of serving in a college atmosphere seriously. They admit their clowning and chitchat with students probably prevent their line from moving as fast as it could. But it also makes them warm and inviting, and their personal touch is why so many students at a large university have embraced them.

"A lot of times you go to different people in the university and they aren't very helpful," Brittany Rabena (freshman-marketing) said. "People that are paid to help you, they don't really care about you. They want to get rid of the problem quickly and move to the next one. These guys go out of their way to be helpful."

It is easy to see why some students, like Rabena and Stedrak, think Plotts is a victim of a machine. After all, a new automated postal center, added in January, will take some of the Mail Guy's would-be workload, and Plotts' computer provides data on how many transactions he performs an hour. Post Office management said the numbers show it is not enough to justify two clerks.

"Banks have ATMs, airlines have kiosks; this is where business is going," said Robert Rutkosky, senior manager of post office operations for the Erie district. "The way people communicate is changing."

Even for a Mail Guy known for communicating the old-fashioned way, it means change. Plotts said that if he has Tuesdays off, he will use them by standing outside the post office explaining to people how they can submit a complaint about the office's lack of full service. Even more than working Saturdays, the reduction in staffing at his old Post Office irks Plotts. He said he would accept the weekend hours without complaint if he could still work at least part of his weekdays at the University Park Office.

"I would say that's an all right compromise," he said. "I just don't want to see any reduction of service there. That's the big thing for me."

Added Herr: "I don't see why they'd want to break up this team."

Rutkosky, however, maintained that Postal Service cannot custom-design each employee's schedule, and, therefore, cannot for Plotts, either. He also said the Postal Service is getting bad publicity for what is a business decision.

And so, despite the outcry, Plotts' last day at his post office was supposed to be Friday, Feb. 24. But he ended up working this past Monday and Tuesday as well because Herr's mother passed away. On Tuesday evening, Plotts knew Herr would return to work the next day and that the shift he just finished would probably be his last at University Park. And yet he hadn't received his new marching orders for the next day.

"No one's told me otherwise, so I'm coming here in the morning," he said, frustrated. "U0ntil they call me and say, 'what the heck are you doing up there?' "

Sure enough, around 9 a.m. Wednesday, Plotts got the call he expected and headed downtown. He didn't spend his final day on the job with Herr.

Their last shift together was last week, Feb. 23, the day Rutkosky and a couple of other supervisors showed up to evaluate post office operations. Rutkosky stood nearby, leaning against a doorway and glancing around the room.

Herr and Plotts' movements displayed the kind of rigidity and apprehension most people feel when performing their jobs in front of upper management. Noticeably tense and uncharacteristically withdrawn, they said little other than the bare-minimum, mundane platitudes needed to communicate with customers. (Please, thank you, would you like insurance.) Their "Cookie of the Month" board had been taken down and hidden away. And the room was about as dull as a packaging assembly line -- until Plotts turned toward Herr.

"Geez, we need to lighten it up in here," he said. "Hey, how about this?"

Plotts had noticed something about a girl standing in line. "Psst. Ma'am," he whispered.

She looked up, startled but smiling, and saw Don the Mail Guy, holding the nice sneakers sign while quietly -- but hardly joyously -- tapping a pair of scissors on the tin dish.