Day 6 has finally arrived and I’m like a teenager on her first date. I’ve been called! Can I be ready in an hour? Sure! And just like that, the bun is on and I’m suited up for action. It’s 11 a.m. The driver just happens to be right down the street and picks me up at my front door. Can’t beat that commute. The neighborhood is beyond beautiful. It’s a perfect 65 degree day with sunshine and those big, white puffies that pass over occasionally creating depth in the valleys between the rolling hills. The plentiful deer are absolutely twitterpated—prancing and loping and showing off for each other. It’s hunting season in the rest of the state but not here. This is private property. And we love our deer. A couple of hours in the breezy jump seat and I’m ready for a break. It’s just like riding in a helicopter but lower with frequent jumps. I make a note to bring some earplugs tomorrow. We just happen to be passing the house so I hop out for lunch and he picks me up forty minutes later, rested and ready to rock. It’s fun! The physical activity is the perfect complement to sitting in front of computer all day. I can’t believe some people are lucky enough to get paid to be outside. By 8:30 p.m. I’m exhausted but happy. 148 stops.
Yoga in the a.m. after my first full day at work is a stretch—literally. Day 7 is looking promising at 5:30 a.m. with no pressing deadlines. I resume the search for the motorcycle I have been looking for since I got my license in May. A call from O. to meet him at the CVS nearby comes in at 11:30 and I’m there by 11:55. We take off into the misty morning. Today is a different area. Patio homes! Gotta love that. My neighborhood is beautiful but ½ acre lots make for long walks to the door and where there is plenty of space there are dogs outside. Let me take this opportunity to share my first Note to Resident: If you want packages delivered inside your gate, leash your dog. He likes to eat things with this many different smells on them. And no, it is not cute that he never growls except at us and postal workers. It’s just not.
On a serious side note: Fear of being bitten by a dog is #1 on the list of complaints about this job. It’s no laughing matter. There are three safety rules that are stressed beyond any others. 1. Always maintain three points of contact with the truck while exiting and entering. 2. Never run and 3. If there is an unleashed dog on the property, don’t risk it. Number three is the only rule I’ve never seen broken.
So, we’re driving along and O. confides that this has already been a horrible day. He was late to work. He has a tooth ache and his boss let him know that he “can’t have another day like yesterday”. Plus, we have 226 stops. I’m beginning to get the idea that the good drivers don’t need helpers. Every stop is a near fiasco. Packages are jumping off the shelves and out of site as soon as O. goes to look for them. I am not running, but am engaged in a solid full foot to the pavement jog from the hip that looks something faster than walking though it really isn’t. I’m trying to give him time between stops to organize but it isn’t happening. Would you like some help with that? I inquire, trying not to overstep my boundaries by invading his private space in the back of the truck. A few packages are tossed in frustration. NTR: You do not want to know what goes on in the back of these trucks. I assure you.