LJI Three Strikes, Week 3: "Morgenmuffel"
"Nor Gloom of Night"
Three streets to go, I mutter to myself. You're almost done.
As I park the vehicle, my Fitbit buzzes at me. I presume, at this point, it's trying to submit its own resignation letter. But no, it's a text from Jamie, my boss.
Can you check on Victoria when you're done?
The new gal. Of course. They probably gave her two hours too much, because everybody has two hours too much these days. Especially these days. "Sure," I text back, because Jamie doesn't ask this unless someone's in real trouble.
I look again to see the text has vanished. All that remains are three reminders of just how rough this is: the time (6:15pm), the date (December 3rd), and the number of steps (37,420).
I do some quick math as I try to organize packages into my satchel. I've got another hour or so on this route, then I have to get to Victoria and figure out what she needs. That's another hour, plus getting back to the office and closing everything out. So...8:30.
This math doesn't work out, but I can deal with that later. For now, just keep walking.
*****
I find Victoria in front of City Hall. "You holding up okay?"
She gives a wry smile. "Nope. The last guy they sent to help me said he didn't know how to do this section and took the easy stuff instead."
I shake my head and roll my eyes. "Why does it feel like I'm the only one out here who's willing to try new things? Present company excepted, of course."
She matches my expression as she flings open the back of her truck. "What can you help with?"
I take a quick glance around at the controlled chaos. Victoria sees my puzzled look. "I think there's a bunch of parcels that I missed earlier." I see what she means--there's stuff from all over the area.
"Okay, I'll take those. Meet you back at the last set of apartments."
"Sounds good," she says. "Thank you so much."
The parcels aren't very heavy, but they're scattered. I end up criss-crossing myself a couple of times delivering them, taking inefficient routes and having to backtrack.
Hey, you try solving the traveling salesman problem on five hours of sleep.
*****
By the time I finish the packages, check back on Victoria (she'd be fine), and get off the clock, it's nearly 9pm. Which means the math that didn't work out earlier now rears its ugly head. (And I like math, in general. For me to call it ugly is saying something.)
I now have about seven-and-a-half hours to do the following: drive a half-hour home, eat dinner, do some form of unwinding, actually fall asleep (a harder task than you might think), and get enough sleep to do this all again tomorrow.
Dinner a la 7-11 it is, then. No caffeine (which is gonna produce a headache in the morning, but what are you gonna do), I can eat as I drive, and hopefully it doesn't upset my stomach enough to make sleep more elusive than usual.
*****
What's that noise?
Oh, right. The alarm. 4:30am. I sit up to grab my phone, which is by design--if the alarm is close enough to turn off without getting out of bed, I will. (I could use the Fitbit, but it's overworked as it is.)
The headache isn't awful, but my calves feel like they're about to snap in half. As I idly scroll through Twitter to try to get my brain awake enough to drive, I once again contemplate whether this is all worth it.
"Surely people can live without their packages for a day around the holidays during a pandemic, right? Right?"
Wrong.
I throw on some clothes, run the razor over my face, and stagger out to the car by a quarter to five. At least I'm not doing this for some office job where I'd literally never see the sun.
I check the date on my phone: December 4th. Twenty-one more days. You can do this.