In July last year, the Tennessee
Haymers all flew back to Los Angeles for the marriage of my niece, Emily, to
another Max (Boigon). Meanwhile, Max Haymer’s wife, Amy, was almost nine months
pregnant. Maybe we could kill two birds with one stone and be there when she
popped. We got our wish. On the day before we flew back to Nashville, Amy and
Max Haymer had a little baby girl, Lucy, and, of course, she is the sweetest
little thing on earth. How about that, I’m a great uncle. Well, maybe not so
great, but really good.
Jonathan, our oldest son, came back
from China that same month and met us in Los Angeles and was able to attend the
wedding and be there for the birth of little Lucy. The timing couldn’t have
been better. I was so happy to see him – we all were. He looked great even
though his hair was almost military short. At this time, he was in his last
month of college at MTSU. He changed his major from engineering to global
studies since the classes he took in China reflected that course of study. Being
so sick of school; he wants it to be over as soon as possible. Just wait until
you get out into the real world of business, my son, and you will miss the
comfort and security of being in school. I hope he finds a great career using
his skills as an entrepreneur and a lad almost fluent in Mandarin.
In September, with the book
completed and my musical career at a standstill, I decided to get a real job.
It had been long enough. Donna had been carrying the financial burden for way
too long and it was time for me to contribute. Better late that never. I had
gone to the local post office here in Thompson Station and after talking to
Brad, the man at the counter, about job opportunities. He suggested I go online
and check out the USPS website. I did, and got a job a month or two later.
At first, the job seemed all right.
I was in training and helping Emily, the fifty-something, stressed-out, postal
lady on route 25. It covered two subdivisions, Canterbury and Tollgate. I don’t
know how she did it in the time allotted, which was 8.4 hours. If it weren’t
for me helping with the Amazon packages, I don’t thing she would have finished
the route in less than twelve.
Before I got my postal legs, I had
to train in the Nashville facility for a few days. I didn’t mind, they not only
paid fifteen buck an hour in the classroom, but also for the mileage to get
there and back. I thought it might be a sweet deal. Boy oh boy, was I ever
wrong about that!
In the training, they stresses
safety this and safety that. Safety, as you probably guessed, was the main
priority. Not so! Since they didn’t have a postal van for me to drive, I was
notified that I had to use my own vehicle, a Toyota Sienna minivan, sit in the
passenger seat and drape my left arm and leg across the console. This, in my
humble opinion, isn’t the safest thing in the world. I was advised to get a
“suicide knob” for my steering wheel, that way I could do broad turns with my
left hand. I went to Tractor Supply, bought one for twelve bucks, and installed
it right away. I also purchased a flashing light which attached to the roof by
magnets. I was all set.
Since the USPS made a deal with
Amazon to deliver their packages, you wouldn’t believe how many there were;
especially over Christmas. Sometimes I had to make three, even four trips from
the post office to my route. With just the packages alone, I was out more than
ten hours. I couldn’t imagine doing this route for real, even if I started at
dawn I would never make back until dark.
Let me explain something about
being a postal carrier. Do you think it’s just delivering mail and packages?
Wrong! The first thing you do is remove the trays of mail and bring it to your
little three-by-five foot cubby hole. Fortunately, the mail is sorted by
address, and if your really good, you can take the trays right to your vehicle
(with the packages, magazines and flyers, and what-have-you) and go right to
your route. Very few carriers can do this since you are sorting and driving at
the same time. Safe? I don’t think so. You think texting and driving is bad,
this takes the cake. So, most carriers sort the mail into the hundreds of
addressed slots, add the periodicals, magazines and flyers, and then put color
coded markers where a package or registered letter corresponds to that
particular address. This could literally take hours and you still have to pull
all the mail, magazines etc., and markers down and put them in order back into
the trays. By now, more than half the day is gone and then you go out to your
van and load it all up. Not a fun day.
To make matters worse, the
postmaster that hired me retired just before Christmas and a new postmaster
came to town. Let’s call him Fat Albert. Fat Albert was a four-hundred pound butterball
that liked to push his weight around. He had his sights on me, since I was the
last carrier to leave for my route. Emily was on vacation, and it was now up to
me to do her whole route (previously I had only covered one subdivision at a
time and she did the other; now I had to do both). The day before my trial by
fire, Fat Albert wanted to see if I could sort mail in another cubby hole, I
think it was for route 22. I had no idea where anything went. The mail slots
are not linear and cross streets interrupt the direct flow of the addresses, so
nothing was a straight shot. You had to memorize the streets. That was the only
way.
FA told me I was working too
slowly. I told him I was doing the best I could. He asked me again when I was
going to be through. I looked at the stack of magazines (maybe four hundred
more) on the table and said, “When hell freezes over.” That didn’t go over to
well. Then I said, “Since you have been working for the post office for what I
assume years, why don’t you show me how it is done so I could learn from your
expertise?” He said he was not going to sort my stuff just to prove a point. He
knew as well as I, he wouldn’t have been able to do any better.
I also made suggestions heard by
deaf ears. Government job. Need I say more? One such suggestion was that there
should be a dedicated Amazon package delivery person to lighten the load of the
mail and magazine delivery. He told me that instead of trying to change the way
the post office does things, why didn’t I concentrate on doing my job better.
The day finally came when I had to
do the complete route. It was a nightmare. I didn’t get back into the post
office until nine pm. I then told Fat Albert that I couldn’t do the job
anymore. I quit on February 5, 2016. He looked shocked.
One final note. I found out they
had taken my advice and hired a full time package person. Too late. I was
already gone.
