(Or everything wrong I ever did at UPS, and can no longer get in trouble for)
Our Catholic brethren have instituted the tradition of Confession in
which faithful members of that sect regularly step into something akin
to a double telephone booth and confess their sins to a priest; at which
point said priest admonishes the supplicant to say 10 or 20 ‘Our
Father’s’ and ‘Hail Mary’s’ as penance for their spiritual
transgressions; (and possibly crimes).
They say confession is good for the soul.
Well, there may be something to it since I’m inclined to confess a few
things I’ve kept hidden for, well, as long as I remember.
And it
so happens that all of my transgressions, at least all I care to share
with you, occurred in and about my 20 year tenure at UPS, and more
specifically in and about truck numbers 59299 and 59358. (I can only
wonder whether said trucks have, by now, been transformed into
stethoscopes, doorknobs and car tags).
At any rate, there were
several circumstances in which I was involved, at the time, that seemed
anything but humorous, but which, in retrospect, now elicit a smile, and
perhaps even a hearty chuckle.
The chronology of the follow events are, by now, out of mind and memory; though not a myriad of details surrounding them.
There was the time I found myself delivering packages to vendors at our
local Orange Festival. Somehow I got wedged between two rows of cars,
and found myself with very little room to maneuver ‘Big Brown Bessie.’
Backing up one too many times, and an inch too much, I heard a crunch.
Dismounting my vehicle I realized I’d backed into someone’s private
vehicle.
Given the almost insignificant results of my vehicular
shenanigans, and considering the hopelessness of locating the owner of
the automobile amongst the vast crowd, I made the momentary decision to
…depart the premises. I can only wonder if Jim or Jane noticed his or
her front bumper the next morning, noted the unusual paint residue, and
exclaimed,
“That potty brown color looks a lot like the Big Bessie my UPS man drives.”
If so, the powers that be remained uninformed and I kept on keeping on.
Speaking of accidents, UPS drivers were allowed one a year; ‘whether we
needed it or not.’ And when our mileage and number of starts and stops
were taken into consideration, it was a minor grace, indeed.
There was the time that I drove a bit too close to an offending tree
branch, and heard the all too familiar sound of paint being scraped from
Old Bessie. Pulling my aluminum friend over to the curb, I unsnapped my
seat belt, negotiated the three steps on the passenger side of the
vehicle, and ‘took a gander’ at my handiwork.
“Yep,” I thought.
“I did a job on it.” (And indeed, I had). It goes without saying that
given a scenario such as this, our drivers were expected to report the
infraction. And it goes without saying that such a report, no matter how
minor, was ‘added to the tab.’
(Needless to say, a second infraction was grounds for termination).
At that time, (and perhaps thirty years later) it was usual for our
mechanic to ‘brush stroke’ the offended area with UPS custom tint, and
send it on its way; with a permanent shot of spray paint later in the
week. And given this variable I made the precarious decision to drive my
injured metal friend in the direction of the nearest car and truck
hospital. Pulling up to paint shop, I jumped out, walked briskly to the
window, and (minus any specifics) asked whether they had any paint of
the desirable shade. They did. And before I left the paint shop, I did;
with a brush to go with it.
That evening I chose a little
traveled route towards my local UPS center, pulled onto the shoulder of
the road, and applied a modest bit of potty brown paint to the wounded
area. Did I mention I kept a few ounces of the stuff in my stash at home
should history repeat itself? (Well, I did).
(To be continued)
By William McDonald, PhD. From (Mc)Donald's Daily Diary. Vol. 43. Copyright pending
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