I had worked as a driver for UPS for over fifteen years and was nearing fifty. And while I was far short of the twenty-five years of service which qualified me for a full retirement, I was tired of the ten plus hour days, and the 150-175 deliveries and pickups which were typical on a daily basis. As a result, I decided to take a vested retirement, though my monthly pension would be one fourth of the amount I would have gleaned had I continued working for another decade. But I just could not even contemplate the thought.
The date was October 23, 1997. When I reported to work that day,
I noticed a chocolate cake and a punch bowl on a nearby table; along with a
stack of small paper plates, napkins, plastic forks, and cups. Suddenly, my
decision to leave United Parcel in favor of pastoral counseling was all too
real. Ten hours from now I would walk out of the local UPS center a free man.
(Only a UPS driver or their spouse can properly grasp the implication of the
last three words of the previous sentence).
Now Angie Cox, one of two driver supervisors, stepped forward,
and raising her voice to 110 decibels, she shouted, “Okay. It’s time. Gather
up. Don’t be shy.” Now, eighteen or twenty drivers created a semi-circle in
front of her, including yours truly.
Angie continued. “Bill, step up here and stand next to me.” Of
course, I and my compatriots knew what was about to transpire. The guys and
gals in brown shirts and shorts grew quiet. “Bill McDonald is leaving us today.
He’s decided there’s greener grass on the other side of the proverbial fence.
We have cake and punch for you in a few moments, but I’d like to give our guest
of honor an opportunity to bid you ‘adieu.’”
Pt. 2
As you might imagine I had thought about what I would say to my
fellow drivers for several days. And since I wanted to maintain my reputation
as “Master of the Unexpected,” I had pre-meditated a plan of action. No one,
much less my supervisor, could have had a clue about what would come next.
“Well, today’s the day, my friends. It’s time for me to move on.
It has been great to know and work with all of you.”
It was time to put my plan into action.
“I’m older than many of you here today. And my age is one reason
I believe it’s time to move on. But, you know, in spite of my advancing age, I
can still dance a jig.”
And with this, I proceeded to do a sorry imitation of “The Lord
of the Dance.”
And now, I said, “And I can still drop down and do a few
one-handed pushups.”
And with this, I lay prostrate on the cold grey concrete beneath
my feet, “took the position” and demonstrated six or eight of the bad boys.
Now, I jumped up from the floor, and finished my little
presentation.
“And you know, not only can I still do a little jig, and a few
one-handed pushups, but I can… kiss my supervisor!”
(Of course, it helped that she was a she). Putting my left arm
around Angie’s back, and resting my hand on her shoulder, I planted a
substantial kiss on her right cheek. I made sure that first and last kiss
expressed some “pucker value.” You could have heard it twenty feet away.
I was so taken up with the execution of my plan that I didn’t
notice how my attentive audience responded to my foregoing words and actions. However,
I expect they were “all eyes and ears.”
Afterward
A quarter century has come and gone since that memorable day in October
which I have just recounted for you.
My attempt to replicate “The Lord of the Dance” began and ended that
day. My wherewithal to do one-handed pushups concluded a few years later. And I
have withheld my kisses from all but the most precious little lady in my life.
And while I like to think my “strange and wonderful” presentation
which preceded my retirement inscribed an indelible memory in the minds of eighteen
or twenty of my fellow delivery drivers that day, I expect if even one or two
have the slightest cognition of it, someone would have to jar their memories
with a hint or a question.
However, I have never forgotten that day and my attempt to bring
a bit of humor, and perhaps a little drama into what would have otherwise been
a rather mundane, run of the mill day, except to me.
Those five fleeting minutes it took for me to “play the fool” in
the presence of my fellow drivers is indelibly engraved in my mind. And given
the hours, and weeks, and months and years of toil and trouble which I
experienced during the preceding decade and a half, those scant few minutes still
bring a smile to my lips, and an involuntary chuckle. And had I to do it all
over again, I wouldn’t change a thing.
by William McDonald, PhD. Copyright pending
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