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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.
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