UPS. And, The Evolution Of Human Society
Out delivering after nine o'clock again last night. It was almost ten the night before.
Get up, brush teeth, drive to mall. The mall's crazy. Push a loaded eight-hundred-pound handcart through mobs of cattle, i mean people, shuffling half agape from one full-room advertisement to another. You imagine you can see the drool. They're potty-trained, mostly, but that's the only difference i've noticed. Oh, except: cattle are more polite. So. Navigate the mall for five hours, more or less, depending on how badly the rental Penske was organized by the loaders. Then off to the second shift, past the naval air station. Drive to meet the second driver wherever he/she happens to be - what did anyone do before cell phones? - jump on, pull down the seat, strap in, and hang on. I haven't even had time for coffee this week. Just that free cup from those nice people at the mall Starbucks, bless their corporate heart.
Most UPS drivers race to get done before dark. Everything's a hassle after dark. You can't see the sprinkler heads and extension cords. Not to mention the dogs. Or the addresses. But i've been out after dark every day now for two weeks - it's the season - and there's actually a contemplative side to it, almost an existential side, after a while.
It's an exercise in being an outsider. A hundred doors open to you; a hundred doors close. Lights wink on and off in just enough time for hello and goodbye. The smells of a hundred strange cultures waft out as slivers of light widen like the portals of a different dimension. Then they shut again, and it's cold; you're still outside, and your brain grasps it if your mind does not, but then you're already running away.
Jump up on the truck, swing into your seat as the driver jams the stick into gear and nails the gas and the angry old diesel jerks the scenery by to the next stop. Again the truck's long blast of cold wind. You can close those sliding doors - the stickers admonish "risk of serious injury" if you don't - but who has the time? It's dead dark; there's only the ghostly green reflection of your diad computer to see by. Hit the ground at a run as the driver's still yanking the air brakes. Your medulla reverts to some still more ancient system of preconscious survival as your legs pound through the dark. Is that snarling dog loose? Uhh--
Another glow of warmth, another portal crack closed. It's after nine now. You're running up apartment steps, just a few packages left to go - one more stop - yes! she's home. Swing up, slam down the seat, and let your back melt against the metal as you slide the roaring truck's door closed at last. A Navy Orion circles high overhead, coming down to land. There's an open door of your own waiting for you, and it's warm.
Get up, brush teeth, drive to mall. The mall's crazy. Push a loaded eight-hundred-pound handcart through mobs of cattle, i mean people, shuffling half agape from one full-room advertisement to another. You imagine you can see the drool. They're potty-trained, mostly, but that's the only difference i've noticed. Oh, except: cattle are more polite. So. Navigate the mall for five hours, more or less, depending on how badly the rental Penske was organized by the loaders. Then off to the second shift, past the naval air station. Drive to meet the second driver wherever he/she happens to be - what did anyone do before cell phones? - jump on, pull down the seat, strap in, and hang on. I haven't even had time for coffee this week. Just that free cup from those nice people at the mall Starbucks, bless their corporate heart.
Most UPS drivers race to get done before dark. Everything's a hassle after dark. You can't see the sprinkler heads and extension cords. Not to mention the dogs. Or the addresses. But i've been out after dark every day now for two weeks - it's the season - and there's actually a contemplative side to it, almost an existential side, after a while.
It's an exercise in being an outsider. A hundred doors open to you; a hundred doors close. Lights wink on and off in just enough time for hello and goodbye. The smells of a hundred strange cultures waft out as slivers of light widen like the portals of a different dimension. Then they shut again, and it's cold; you're still outside, and your brain grasps it if your mind does not, but then you're already running away.
Jump up on the truck, swing into your seat as the driver jams the stick into gear and nails the gas and the angry old diesel jerks the scenery by to the next stop. Again the truck's long blast of cold wind. You can close those sliding doors - the stickers admonish "risk of serious injury" if you don't - but who has the time? It's dead dark; there's only the ghostly green reflection of your diad computer to see by. Hit the ground at a run as the driver's still yanking the air brakes. Your medulla reverts to some still more ancient system of preconscious survival as your legs pound through the dark. Is that snarling dog loose? Uhh--
Another glow of warmth, another portal crack closed. It's after nine now. You're running up apartment steps, just a few packages left to go - one more stop - yes! she's home. Swing up, slam down the seat, and let your back melt against the metal as you slide the roaring truck's door closed at last. A Navy Orion circles high overhead, coming down to land. There's an open door of your own waiting for you, and it's warm.
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