Lesson 6: The World Will Eventually Come To A Screeching Halt And Hurl You Into Deep Space, So You May As Well Get Your Life Figured Out Now

I've come to the conclusion that people act in unison without their own knowledge. Here's an example: Mondays I have 5 regular pickups. Those pickups show up whether they actually have anything or not. In addition to those, I typically get anywhere from 5 to 10 more throughout the day, until my 2:00pm cutoff time. So how is it that today there was a single call-in, giving me fits of paranoia the whole day? Because I know that they're all going to hit me at once, and at like 1:45pm, effectively ruining my day...but then my cutoff time hits, and...nothing. In a fit of rapture I use that extra time to drive like a madman from stop to stop, getting a ridiculous amount delivered and finishing well within my time frame. But back to the point, how did almost everyone coordinate their lack of pickup needs on the same day without talking about it?

It boggles my messed-up little mind...

My cat drinks from the sink. It's a little embarrassing, because it feels like he's spoiled out of his fur. He gets up on the sink and mrowrs and prrrps until we come turn the faucet on. It just makes me hope I'll be more stern with my eventual kids than I am with my cat. His name's Miles, by the way, and he looks like a Russian Blue. (What a cat looks like vs. What a cat's breed actually is. Two very different things.) He shows some of the traits, which I suppose means he might have a little Blue in him. He's about 3 1/2 years old. (I will NOT give his age in months! I DESPISE referring to the age of anything over a year in months...)

Lastly, I've received responses from several family members and friends now, but I'm still missing a few. Hey, even a "your blog sucks," will do.

Later...

Lesson 5: If You Know The Right Answer, Speak Up

So this was the first Monday with the route from Hell. Gah. I had about 80 stops, instead of a typical 50 to 60. On top of that our ground truck was late, making all of us late....sigh. It makes me want September to get here early so I can head off to Basic Training. I ship to Ft. Benning. Yes, I've heard the horror stories, but I don't care. I'm going to be the best damn soldier they've ever had. It's just that the military is so clear about what's expected of you. It's not run by some ass-bag that can't manage the finances of his own company...the paychecks of 6 other drivers actually bounced, once. That's scary.

My brother suggested I join the company he works for. I thought it was a great idea. Haven't heard a whole lot more about that...

Anyway. Post comments!!!!

Lesson 4: Landing On Your Feet

Upon my arrival to work this morning, I set upon my usual routine: Clock in, get my scanner from the cradle-rack-thing, steal a piece of paper from the printer to write my stops down on, leap the belt to my truck and start the sort. Problem encountered: as per normal, the sort started about 15 minutes early. Also as per normal, other drivers had started pulling my freight for me. How nice of them. About half of what was in my stack of boxes thus far consisted of deliveries for a city that I no longer delivered to. Innocent mistake perhaps? No, too many boxes for that. Cruel joke? Not this early in the morning, all the other drivers are well aware of my usual morning-shenanigans disposition. No, that city is once again under my stewardship. Damn them.
That means I have 3 cities and 5 small towns to deliver to. Thrillsville.

In other news, I love my new car. Miss the old one, though. It had a beatability, if you will. I felt free to E-brake it whenever I felt like it. She was tough. I can't do that in the new one. She's to nice, right now.

Also, allergies are hell. And the worst of it is nothing works for me but Ben-a-drill. I love being boring, listless and drowsy. Yes, sir. Only problem is that my sneezing and sniffling tend to annoy certain parties, and I get told to shut up quite often. Kinda like getting slapped for hiccuping...

Yeah, I think I'm done...

Lesson 3: Respect Your Elders

In my short twenty-something years on this planet, it has entered my head somewhere along the way that I am significant. I know this to be entirely untrue. I realized this when sitting with a finance manager of a particular car dealership signing a paper that keeps me broke and them paid, and discovered how uneasy I've become around signature lines. No, they don't keep me awake at night, they just make me uncertain about everything. Like, "If I sign this piece of paper, they have the right to revoke my car and rape my credit score at any given time." Now, I can't give you an estimate of how many people entertain even mild conspiracy theories, but I know the number's up there. I don't suspect people consciously, I just somehow imagine them walking into a classroom labeled "wallet-raping 101". Or, at least, being pulled aside after a declined sale by a fellow associate and being told that he's too nice a guy, gave up too easy, put the pressure on, etc. Here's how you get more money, and all that.

But I know why I suspected the guy: He understood the numbers, and I didn't. Car starts at $8,000 and by the time you sign for it, you're agreeing to pay $11,000. How the hell? It's easy to imaging you're being taken. I mean, he is a car salesman.

I apologize to car salesmen everywhere. It's a job. I understand that perfectly well, believe me. But the stereotype is there for good reason. I'm not saying all car salesmen live up to the stereotype. But somebody did. Good lord, which stereotypes might I fit?

I don't want to think about that...


Edit: If you are reading these, PLEASE feel free to post comments. Just click a "comments" link at the end of the entry you want to comment on. Please.

Lesson 2: Patience is a Virtue

I work for a fairly well-known courier company. For the sake of avoiding a fun-filled lawsuit I can't afford to defend against, it shall remain undisclosed. What will be disclosed is this company's utter lack of moral standing. Sure, they're all for a crisp, clean uniform, clean shaven appearance, and utter dedication to the cause and country. Sounds like Nazis? Never!

The point is, you have to go beyond how a company presents itself. After all, they're the ones footing the bill for the advertisements to make them more appealing. I myself find it an affront to my intelligence and belief system for them to assume I base 90% of my opinions on image. Granted, about 95% of the general populace is that way, but who the hell wants to be average? I claim I don't, but when it comes down to it, I find I want the same things as those people I make fun of. I want a good job, security, a masterful understanding of exactly what is going on with our economy...

But let's face facts: I didn't know what APR meant until two years ago, and I don't understand equity now. It sounds like a bunch of buzzwords that wealthy real-estate agents throw around at lunchtime at the Red Lobster to sound cool in front of their real-estate buddies, before they all go play some real-estate golf, and then get home just in time to fight with their wives because their wives just dropped $35,000 online for a shit-load of Nordstrom crap that they thought looked good then only wore once because their husbands said they looked "ok".........I am NOT bitter.......

Lesson 1: You have to start somewhere

This being my first entry, I am unsurprisingly plagued with the semi-expected lack of things to say. That is, despite having thought of about 3 dozen or so beforehand, then when I sit down to type them all in a grandiose montage of high-speed bloggery, amaze and astound all who read with my wit and wisdom...only to have all topics disappear from my mind with an ear-splitting poof. So this begs the question: Just who am I and what the hell is this about?

I'll start with current events and shift around from there. (All who are growing weary of my wordage and articulation, don't worry. I'll fall back to reality as soon as the novelty wears off.)

My wife and I were involved in a wreck on Thursday. All details spared, suffice it to say I did not run a red light. The chick in the Saturn did. Anyway, we found out today that our car has been declared a total loss. The amount that her insurance is granting us is dismal at best. But the '92 Honda Accord which has served us so well these past 5 years has finally seen her day. (Strange that most cars are "she". Odd.) It will be sad to see her go.

I've said about all I care to for now.