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 5th
Street, SE. I can tell you that 5th 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. From (Mc)Donald's Daily Diary. Vol. 25. Copyright pending
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