UPS STILL OWES ME

 

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I drove one of those big brown trucks for twenty years. (Yeah, I did).

And while I can’t speak for the other half million or so active and retired “Buster Brown’s,” I, for one, found the job emotionally unrewarding and grueling; in terms of abject fatigue and extremely long hours. The one and only thing I derived from the job, and from whence I experienced satisfaction, was financial remuneration.

Honestly, I hated the job and was a grasshopper’s knee away from quitting every day of the approximately 7,300 days I worked for “the tightest ship in the shipping business.” And I would make my wife aware of my disdain for my job; virtually every night after I returned home. About halfway through my inglorious, seemingly everlasting tenure, I made the decision to quit hating the job, and purposely changed my verbiage to “I dislike this job.” (I can tell you it made a difference in my demeanor).

 I have previously written about various and sundry experiences at UPS.

The dog which insisted on chasing my truck every day I drove down the street where he lived. And when my tolerance level sunk to about 3 on a scale of 100, I bought a large fountain Coke at a nearby 7-11, drove down that street, stopped on a dime when the pooch neared my right front tire, jumped out, and poured the sugary liquid all over the little guy. (He never chased me again).

Another unfortunate pooch, a homeless German Shepherd had, unbeknownst to me, crawled under my stopped truck while I was completing that day’s paperwork.

In retrospect, I figured he was seeking a little shade from the Summer’s sun. When I started the engine, and began to pull away, the back tires went “bump bump.” Dismounting my vehicle, I found the precious pooch shuttering out the last throes of his life on this mortal coil. Of course, I felt absolutely horrible. Since then, I have referred to the big fella as “Shadow.”

Pt. 2

Then there was this residential delivery near Cypress Gardens. As I pulled to a stop in front of a beautiful home on the lake, I selected the package from the bottom shelf, grabbed my clipboard, navigated the three steps to ground level, and walked towards the house. As I rounded the carport wall which faced the street, I was “greeted” by (drum roll) an elderly man (drum roll) in his birthday suit! I surmised he had been changing clothes after having swam in his little piece of the lake. My newfound acquaintance stuttered and could hardly talk

. “Please don’t tell anyone you saw me like this!” I assured him I wouldn’t. (I lied). I suppose I have told upwards of a hundred people by now. (LOL)

Then there was the day I pulled my “Brown Betsy” into the parking lot of a 50 unit apartment complex, threw open the bulkhead door, selected a package, bounded down the steps of the truck, and walked up to Apartment 1C. At that time, we were required to get a signature on our paper pad. And for some reason, rather than ringing the doorbell, I threw open the screen door, turned the doorknob on the outside wooden door, and stepped across the threshold!

A young woman stopped in mid-stride, and I very clumsily attempted to explain myself. “I am SO sorry! I have never done this before. And I have no idea why I did it today.” The little lady was very gracious, and told me not to think anything of it. (It’s a very good thing I didn’t catch her in “Commando Mode,” as I had the man who lived on the lake)!

Pt. 3

All “good things” (not) come to an end, they say. On that fateful day in October 1997, I prepared to get on with the rest of the life which God had so graciously bestowed on me. The management team afforded me a brief party prior to the entire crew disembarking for what would be my final delivery day. A chocolate cake, punch, napkins, paper plates and forks had been laid out on a foldup table.

Now my female supervisor (who would ride with me that day) began with, “Well, Bill has completed 20 years of service and he is leaving us today. Bill, would you like to greet us a final time?”

And not to be unprepared, (as I had premeditated what I would say and do) I responded with, “Yes, I would” (and) “I can still dance a jig,” and I did a little two step (and) “I can still do a few one handed pushups,” and I dropped down and knocked out five or six of those bad boys (and) “I can still kiss my supervisor!” And I puckered up, and planted a loud one on her right cheek.

Almost 25 years have flowed under that proverbial bridge since that momentous day, and UPS refuses to go quietly.

For you see, for the first fifteen or eighteen years after my retirement, I experienced monthly dreams about the tightest ship in the shipping business. They were virtually always the same. It was about 5PM, and I was finishing up my delivery route.

However, I had three or four packages which were either illegible or bearing labels with streets I had never heard of. If you know anything about UPS, you know that they aren’t keen, swell and cool about any packages coming back to the building in the evening. Of course, in the dream I was frantic because it was time to drive back to the local center.

The dreams subsided for several years after this, though so much like toe fungus or shower mildew, they never completely went away.

Last night the dream changed. I found myself walking down a city sidewalk, and there to my right was a UPS man seated on a bench. I continued walking, and now I noticed an empty United Parcel truck. Walking further, I found myself looking at the back of another UPS vehicle. However, the back door was open. Suddenly, someone cranked the engine, and the truck began to pull away. Several packages came barreling out the back door, and bounced across the asphalt.

And then I woke up.

I suppose I will continue to enjoy or endure, (as the case may be), UPS dreams for the remainder of my natural life. And it occurs to me. If I am forced to dream these uninvited, unwelcome, unsavory dreams ‘til I lay it all down… somebody needs to come up with some substantial back pay; since it seems to me I'm still on the payroll!

by William McDonald, PhD