LJ Idol Homecoming, Week 6: "Solvitur Ambulando"
Step By Step
During our training sessions at USPS, one of the leaders asked around the room: Why are you taking this job? Most people gave the stock answers (which mostly boiled down to, "I need a job!"), but I came up with a slightly different reason. "You're paying me to get in shape!"
Which, truth be told, I needed. Despite my best efforts, a year of unemployment had tacked on about 30-40 pounds that needed to go. As the instructor reminded us, we were going to get in shape, whether we wanted to or not.
I thought I understood. I had no idea.
*****
The first few weeks were, I was told, fairly easy--long, flat streets; clearly marked house numbers; only a few hours of walking a day. Soon, however, I proved that I could handle pretty much anything the supervisors threw at me, adapting quickly to new routes and being willing to pitch in wherever I was needed.
This, in retrospect, was a mistake.
Our office runs four ZIP codes--three in San Mateo, one in Foster City. I have distinct memories of delivering packages in all four zones in the same day, which entails far more driving around in those boxy mail trucks than can possibly be safe or sane. I also recall two supervisors arguing with each other (after I'd done a 6-hour route in five hours, mind you) about which of them would get to send me out for another two hours' worth of work.
I began to get the sense that I wasn't being given a permanent route, not because of bureaucratic nonsense, but because the supervisors prized my versatility above all else. But for all my angst about being bounced around like a rubber ball, those pounds I signed up to lose did, in fact, disappear.
*****
My grandmother is the world's greatest shopper, and I will not hear any argument otherwise. On the one hand, this makes Christmastime a joy, as you know she will find something you'll love and not spend too much money doing it. On the other hand, this makes Christmastime a pain, because what do you get the woman who not only has everything, but got it all for 40% 0ff? (The answer is usually gift cards, so she can do more of what she loves.)
The Christmas after I joined USPS, Grandma got me a Fitbit, "so now you'll know just how much they're abusing you at work." Given that I was now going on nearly a year without so much as a sniff of a permanent offer, someone wondered aloud which would quit first--me or the Fitbit.
At the time, I'd have wagered on me.
*****
I walked in one Monday to the worst news possible. "Route 452," Jamie said. "You'll probably need to pitch in on 412 as well."
Now, in terms of pure physical exertion, there are more challenging and hilly routes than these two; Foster City is almost entirely flat. But neither route has any apartment buildings (which can take longer depending on mail load, but at least give you a bit of a break from walking), and 452 in particular has this complicated maze of townhouses where the front doors of the houses (i.e., where the parcels go) are far away from the mailboxes on the garage doors. Plus, it's about an hour too long--even the supervisors acknowledge this, but given how short-staffed we are, there's not much to be done about it.
I soldier on, taking on the two hours of long streets on 412 before moving to the start of 452. I push through the route, only getting myself turned around a couple of times, and race, race against the dying of the light. (The little headlamp I bought at REI pays for itself almost immediately.)
After scrambling to make it back to the office and off the clock before the union-maximum 12 hours is up, I finally flop into my car. I look down at the Fitbit on my wrist and see an incomprehensible number: 45,240.
Tapping through the buttons, I see that this comes out to a little over 20 miles. Frankly, that feels low. I fire up the car and, instead of turning left to head home, I turn right toward the nearest steakhouse. Because I've earned it. (And because, in all likelihood, I'll face the same challenge again tomorrow--only this time, with those stupid circular ads included.)
*****
The wristband on the Fitbit has been replaced twice now, but it's still ticking. And I'm still here, now on a permanent rotation of routes that covers five different carriers' days off.
Who quits first? At this point, my money's on the Fitbit.