RUNNING LATE

I drove one of those big brown delivery vehicles for a very long time, and hated every day of it. Well, to be fair I eventually decided to quit hating the object of my financial wherewithal, and figured it would be healthier for me and mine to simply dislike the job. As a matter of fact, ultimately, I came up with a phrase that significantly increased my EML. (Emotional Motivation Level). 

"I have to do it. I don't have to like it."

And it didn’t hurt to remind myself that I was being well rewarded for my labor, and that there were a hundred other people who would have gladly exchanged places with each and every one of the several hundred thousand UPS men and women who cranked up their engines, and drove their boring, repetitious routes on a daily basis.
Eventually, I accumulated twenty excruciating years, and prepared to “give it back to them.” And considering how utterly demanding, and at the same time unfulfilling the work had been, it seemed good to me to “go out with a bang.”
And thus on October 27, 1997 I reported to my delivery job for the very last time.
Well, my readers I didn’t get a gold watch, but I definitely got a chocolate cake. Given the color of my clothing and old #59299 (my delivery vehicle) the color of the cake seemed rather fitting.
As my 5-6 minute retirement ceremony neared an end, my Joanna, my direct supervisor, asked if I wished to say anything to my adoring fans. (Well, ‘compulsory attendees’ might be a more suitable phrase).
And as is my nature, I was not caught unawares or unprepared.
“After twenty years on this job I am healthier than the day I began. I can still dance a jig.”
(And I proceeded to do my best imitation of “The Lord of the Dance”).
“And I can still drop down and do a few pushups.”
(And with that I dropped to the concrete floor and knocked out a few one-handed pushups).
“And I can still kiss my boss lady.”
(And I quickly turned to my left and planted an affectionate kiss on Joanna’s right cheek; though I can’t say I ever liked her all that much).
But it had helped to remind myself that neither she, nor any other supervisor assumed their positions to be a friend to me, or any other hourly employee.
Nonetheless, it always seemed to me that when they bled they must have bled brown, and that, without contradiction, they’d sold their souls to those three golden initials which adorned every package, every vehicle, and every document which found their way out of the local terminal.
October 28, 1997 dawned clear and bright, and so began the rest of the rest of my life.
However, I only thought I had retired from United Parcel Service.
For you see, at least once a month, without fail, I dream the same, recurring dream. (And it occurs to me that given the years which have elapsed since I danced that jig, accomplished those pushups, and shared the first and last kiss I would ever share with a representative of “Big Brown,” I have experienced a quarter thousand such visions, which count the nether world as their place of origin.
In my dream, in every dream, I find myself in the cargo compartment of my model 800 ‘package car.’ And as was my custom, I would step into the bulkhead of my delivery vehicle several times a day, and sort the next shelf in the order in which I was due to deliver it.
Cypress Gardens Boulevard
First Street South
Central Avenue
Lake Silver Drive
(Not unlike the Billy Joel song, “And So It Goes.”)
And so it went.
However, this was where the dream and reality diverged. For in each and every dream I ever dreamed with United Parcel as its theme, I found myself irrevocably lost.
For you see, as I select this or that package, it bears an address with which I am altogether unfamiliar. And as the temperature rises, and my anger increases, I realize I have been left with 10 or 12 packages; with 10 or 12 undeliverable addresses.
And did I mention UPS took a dim view of our bringing back more than 1 or 2 such undeliverable packages on a nightly basis? (Well, they did).
Not only was I, for all intents and purposes, hopelessly lost, but by now the sun was low on the horizon, and I had waited too long to contact my supervisor in a bid to have another driver retrieve my outgoing packages.
As Mrs. Fairfax of Charlotte Bronte’s, “Jane Eyre” might have exclaimed,
“What to do? What to do?”
And it is at this point the dream ends, or I wake up; whichever comes first.
I have often reflected on the meaning of this recurring dream. (I won’t call it a nightmare since, oddly enough, I enjoy nightmares). However, I simply don’t enjoy my monthly UPS dream.
I tend to think my “Big Brown Dream” is representative of something which goes far beyond having worked two decades at the most long-lived, and excruciating job I ever worked.
I have come to believe that the meaning of the dream is all about “working out my own salvation” in the time that still remains to me on this earth. The hour is late, and there is still much to be done.
I have often remarked,
“I’m still thirty, as long as I avoid mirrors!”
In spite of this seeming anxiety about fulfilling the waning plans our Lord has for me, as an individual, I have often been reassured by a multitude of scripture.
“My times are in His hands.” (Psalm 31:15)
(and)
“The Lord will accomplish that which concerns me.” (Psalm 138:8)
(and)
“He who has begun a good work in you will fulfill it until the day of Christ.” (Philippians 1:6)
(and)
“Faithful is He who has called you, and He will also do it.” (1st Thess. 5:24)

Time runs along, and there is still much work to be done.
(Given the object of my dreams, and the time I have devoted to it, I think UPS must have a very nice paycheck awaiting me).


 By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from (Mc)Donald's Daily Diary. Vol. 33. Copyright pending 
 If you wish to copy, share or save this blog, please include the credit line, above
*************
 If you would like to see the titles and access hundreds of my blogs from 2015, do the following:  

Click on 2015 in the index to the right of this blog. When my December 31st blog, "The Shot Must Choose You" appears, click on the title. All my 2015 blog titles will come up in the right margin