Pt. 1
I used to write two or three blogs a day, and have been
doing so for eight or ten years. As a result, my internet blog (which, by the
way, can be located at https://macblogphd.blogspot.com) has amassed a
whooping 4,000 entries.
Nowadays, the grand total is accumulating much more slowly;
with perhaps two or three entries a month. Following is one of those sporadic
blogs which I find myself writing now; in the wee hours of the morning.
I have previously written a number of blogs relating to my
two decades as a UPS driver; one memory consigned to each blog. However, it
occurs to me to share a number of random memories with you tonight; in the
context of one blog.
UPS simply wasn’t “fun and games.” Hot and barely
endurable days (and during the Christmas season) driving into the building at
midnight, and starting all over eight hours later. Even a “run of the mill” day
in March or June consisted of 150 delivery stops, 20 pickup stops, and 80 miles
on the odometer. (Though I had earned my public school teaching certificate, I
stayed because “the price was right”).
But in the midst of it all, (especially in retrospect), I
experienced some “strange and wonderful” experiences which broke up the
monotony of that strenuous job.
I drove up to a house across the lake from the world
famous Cypress Gardens, parked my truck (well, package car) on the side of the
road, opened the bulkhead door, grabbed a package, bounced down the three steps
on the passenger side of the vehicle, briskly walked twenty steps across the
front yard, and as I rounded the carport wall, which obscured the front door,
saw
… a man standing in his “altogether.” You know his “birthday
suit.” Of course, this wasn’t something you exactly see every day.
Apparently, the middle aged fellow had been swimming in
his pool, or possibly the lake, and he was toweling off before going into his
house. Of course, the “victim” was more surprised than I was.
“Please don’t tell anybody you saw me like this!”
(I lied)
I have long since forgotten his name and address, and I’m
sure that’s alright with him.
Pt. 2
Then, there was the pesky pooch which insisted on chasing
my UPS vehicle every time I drove down a particular residential street in
Winter Haven, Florida. I was especially sensitive about this recurring development
since my pet cocker spaniel had been run over by a dump truck when I was seven
or eight.
I didn’t want to hurt the dog, (though I have always
believed the truck driver purposely veered towards my Princess and ran her down
that day). But at the same time, I wanted to teach “Rover” that this sort of
behavior was unacceptable.
As a result, I “hatched” a plan of action. One day, just
before I was scheduled to drive down Rover’s street, I pulled into a 7-11,
walked in, grabbed a large fountain drink cup, filled it to the brim with Coke,
(no ice, thank you), paid, walked back out, got in my vehicle, started it up,
and set my sights on 5th Street, Southeast.
I had driven all of a block when Rover came dashing out of
the yard, and began to run alongside my front tire. Screeching to a stop, I grabbed
the fountain drink, hopped down the metal steps, chased old Rover down, and…
poured the syrupy sweet slosh all over him!!!
(He never chased my UPS truck again)!!!
Speaking of dogs, a few years before I “hung it all up,” one
July day I pulled over in a mobile home park to do my final tallies; before
driving into the building. I was parked there for ten or twelve minutes. When I
finished, I turned my ignition key, and pulled away from the curb. Suddenly,
there was a “bump, bump” behind me. My duel back tires on the back passenger
side of the truck lifted slightly off the road, and came back down hard.
I shut the vehicle off, bounded down the steps, and saw him.
A large German Shepherd
He was in the throes of leaving this world. Of course, I
felt terribly about the situation. But after gasping a few times, he succumbed
to his fate. Apparently, the homeless pooch, (I presume he was a wanderer),
decided to rest in the shade of what he thought was a large, brown stationary
object. I have often thought of that experience, and the dear pooch.
When I reminisce about him, I call him “Shadow.”
Pt. 3
One of the strangest experiences I, well, experienced,
involved a nationwide UPS strike. Drivers throughout the country were protesting
the decision of United Parcel Service to pick up heavier packages; (which
obviously made it difficult for the average driver).
Twelve or fifteen local UPS drivers at a time, for a period of
six or eight hours, before trading off with a new crew, stood at the entrance
of the road leading into the local United Parcel center.
As I was standing there holding an “Unfair Shipping Practices”
sign, one of our female drivers took a seat in a nearby lawn chair. I noticed
she was holding a 4-6 month old baby in her arms. Suddenly, she lifted her old UPS
T-shirt, and affixed the child to her right breast. A UPS driver suckling an
infant.
Another “something you don’t see every day.”
Once, when I drove up to a shop which made canvas awnings, I
pulled open my bulkhead door and retrieved a package for the business;
something I had done 150 times a day for many years. But they say, “there’s
always an exception to the rule,” and today was the day.
As I closed the bulkhead door, I closed the pinkie finger of
my left hand between the aluminum door and steel frame which encased it. I was trapped.
Noticing the “woman of the house,” just inside the open side
door, I screamed, “Help Me!” Mrs. Parker (her real name) came running.
“What can I do?” “What can I do?”
With my free hand, I pointed towards the key in my stationary
left hand.
“Take the key. Put it in the lock. Turn it. I’ll pull open the
door!”
Carol took the key, put it in the lock, and attempted to turn
it while I grabbed the chain above me and pulled.
Somehow, we couldn’t manage to coordinate our joint efforts,
and my level of pain was steadily increasing from a 6 towards a 9 ½. I knew I
had to do something. Status quo simply wasn’t acceptable.
“Miss Parker, move out of the way a second.”
And with this, with this, I slowly pulled the offending digit
out of the door frame! It was implausible, but, somehow, I managed to pull that
finger out of a space which wasn’t designed to accommodate a finger. And
surprisingly enough, the bones of my left pinkie were still intact, and the
flesh was still firmly attached to them.
Pt. 4
“All good things come to an end.” Did I say “good things?” (Uhmmm,
maybe not).
At any rate, after twenty years I had made a decision to
retire from “the Tightest Ship in the Shipping Business.” I had enjoyed it as
long as I possibly could.
On the 23rd of October, 1997, I reported to the UPS
center in Lakeland, Florida for the very last time. My lady supervisor called
the drivers to attention, (well, it was the closest thing I’ve ever known to my
service in the military), and made an announcement.
“Bill is retiring after twenty years with UPS. We’ll miss him.
We’ll take a few minutes before “you start your engines” to honor him. We have
cake and punch for you guys.”
(and)
“Bill, do you want to say something?”
As you might imagine, I had already premeditated how I would
respond to a question like that.
“Yes. Yes, I would.”
(and)
“Thanks, Angie.”
(and)
“After twenty years doing this excruciating work, which we do
every day, I can still dance a jig!”
(And I proceeded to do a poor imitation of “The Lord of the
Dance”).
“And after twenty years of doing what I have faithfully done
what I have done, I can still drop down, and do a few one handed pushups.”
(And without so much as a pause, I prostrated myself on the
cold concrete, and knocked out five or six one handers).
“And, you know, after delivering multiplied hundreds of thousands
of packages, I can still kiss my supervisor!”
To be sure, I added this element to my repertoire only because
she was a she, (and not a he).
And now, I turned towards Angie, and kissed her on the cheek.
(It seemed like a good way to say “goodbye” to a job I hated,
but, ultimately, for my own mental health, decided to merely dislike).
Pt. 5
After twenty-five years of doing something which I would much
rather be doing, UPS still has it’s invisible claws firmly embedded in my
flesh. (Well, the foregoing statement may, admittedly, be a bit over the top).
At any rate, ever since that infamous day on which I danced a jig,
knocked out several one handed pushups, and kissed my supervisor, I have
dreamed UPS dreams. (Yeah, I have).
Perhaps once a month, I have experienced virtually the same
dream.
I am out in the boondocks delivering packages, and the clock
has just about tick tocked itself within minutes of the second when I simply have
to make my way back to the UPS center.
I look on the final shelf, and there are three undelivered packages.
Looking at the address labels, I realize that I have never heard of the
streets, much less the street numbers.
Well, if you know anything about UPS, you know that “Mama
Brown Bear” frowns on undelivered packages. I am completely immobilized. I have
no idea what to do. Two options, and neither works.
I have often told anyone who would listen that I still work
for United Parcel Service; (if only in my dreams).
(I’ve been wondering where I can pick up my W-2).
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