SHARING MY BIG GULP WITH ROVER

I drove a big brown UPS delivery truck for twenty years, and was never happier than when I pulled into the local hub for the last time on October 23, 1997. As I coasted into that same old space where I always parked # 59299, along with the great captain of our souls, I might well have uttered,

“It is finished.”

Oddly enough, now two decades into my retirement, I am still delivering packages for “the greatest ship in the shipping business” but only… in my dreams. For at least once a month, in that ethereal nether world we call sleep, I find myself with a few packages whose addresses I don’t recognize; and running desperately late.

Years earlier, as a matter of fact closer to the beginning, than the ending of my tenure, my route included both businesses and residences in one quadrant of a small city. And several times a month my deliveries included street numbers on 5^th Street, SE. I can tell you that 5^th Street, SE was very much like any other street in “Winter Haven,” (the location of the famous, “Cypress Gardens,”) with one exception,

… a pesky, non-descript dog which chased my truck every time I rolled past the house, (or more succinctly, the yard) in which he resided.

And I can tell you, I wearied of my frequent confrontation with the little mongrel. To my credit, however, I did not run the beast into the ground, as a truck driver once did my own dog. Nevertheless, I formulated a plan of attack.

There just happened to be a 7-11 located near the infamous site of my all-too frequent encounters with “Rover.” And on a particular day when I was scheduled to deliver a couple of packages “on the street where he lived” I pulled into the parking lot of that convenience store, hopped down the steps of my vehicle, walked into the door, stepped up to the beverage machine, pulled a “Big Gulp” cup from the holder, placed it under the ice dispenser, and finally, filled it to the brim with syrupy, brown Coca-Cola.

Returning to my truck, I hopped back up the steps from whence I came, sat down, buckled my seat belt, started the engine, and aimed my truck towards my next destination. I suppose if I’d given my mission a code name, it might well have been

… Destination Dog

As I approached my little friend’s grassy hangout, I saw him rush into the road, and suddenly he was “neck and neck” with the front tire of my truck. However, unlike dozens of those previous animate/inanimate races which had transpired in the past, this time, rather than applying the gas, I applied the brake, turned off the ignition, grabbed the Big Gulp, rushed down the steps, chased down old Rover, and

… poured that nice, brown, syrupy mess all over the poor pooch!

And never so much as looking back, I retraced my path to the truck, hopped up the steps, mounted the driver’s seat, strapped the seat belt around me, turned on the ignition, and drove away; leaving the hapless critter “to his own devices.”

Needless to say, dear readers, old Rover never chased # 59299 again.

(And I think I know why)!

Post-Script - Speaking of dreaming UPS dreams...

Last night after I finished writing the previous article, I walked into my dark bedroom, reached into a laundry basket which contains several dozen pair of socks of various types and colors, blindly grabbed a pair, and slipped them on. Only to wake up a few minutes ago and discover I was wearing the one remaining pair of UPS monogrammed socks which remain from that era so long ago.

By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from "(Mc)Donald's Daily Diary" Vol. 48. Copyright pending 

 

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