Note: this post was written on Thursday. However, since I'd already posted on Thursday and I did want to write this post, I scheduled it to be published on Friday. Also, it makes me look like I'm doing a little more work keeping up with my blog because you read each post on a different day. Haha!
Since most of you already know I got a job (scratch "unemployed" off the "unemployed single living at home" title!) I'll skip that part except to say "Yay!".
I'd like to dedicate this post to newspaper carriers worldwide. Most people seem to think their newspaper magically appears at their doorstep, or that it's delivered by a flying monkey trained to cater especially to their detailed, specific needs. In reality, they're just one more person on the route. It's commonly believed that the people with "normal" jobs are the ones who need people skills: the office workers and restaurant employees and secretaries. While that's certainly true, the people who really need people skills are the paper carriers. Let's face it: every paper customer has certain expectations as far as the delivery of the daily news goes. On the porch, in the paper slot by the mailbox, on the hooks under the mailbox; or down the alley, up the stairs, through two doors, down the hall, and double-bagged hanging on the doorknob. If the paper is missing, we take the blame. If the paper is wet, we hear about it. Heaven forbid we forget to bag and band it and stick it in the tube under the mailbox instead of the special newspaper tube next to it.
If you want an example of a truly "underdemeciated" person, look at the paper carrier. It's not just a boy on a bike who knows everyone on his route and who only gets smiles and tips. It's a person in a car with their hazards on and people behind them not understanding what that means so nearly rear-ending them when their daughter's arm is sticking out the window making a shot into a tube two feet away set too far back from the curb so they have to slam on the gas and yell for their daughter to pull in her arm before it gets broken off. /end rant/ Okay, that was a bit extreme of a scenario, but it's happened.
We spend hours a day in a car, so bored of banding and bagging and chucking papers and going through the routine and singing along with the radio that we make up names for customers. Yeah. At least, I do. No, I'm not sharing.
And that's not really what I had in mind for this post. Of course not. Is it ever?
My point had to do with the people skills part. Mom just picked up a new route that's all downtown offices, banks, and businesses. And a church. We've got it down to about 45 minutes for the whole thing. Yeah. There are maybe that many papers. I was musing today about the strange relationship paper carriers have with other people. On this new route, the people who get the paper are the ones used to running the interaction, but to me they're the customers. And because we're supposed to be magical flying monkeys, people treat us differently. We aren't expecting their services, so we don't get treated like a valuable customer. We just kind of go along with a smile and a nod, in and out, speed walking and sweaty, and people barely give us a second glance. We get black finger prints all over their doors and railings, but no one seems to notice. They see us for two seconds, and we're gone, and they're just another person on the route. You see people in a different light. I've come to appreciate mail carriers a little more, too.
But mostly, I've decided that I really hate cubicles.
Truly. I may enjoy writing, which involves sitting in front of a computer at a desk filled with pens and notebooks, but it's not the same thing.
There's one new building in particular. It has lots of windows, and a lot of them get sunlight a good portion of the day. However, the windows stay closed and the curtains drawn. The place stinks.
Honestly, I think something died in the ventilation system and the poor cubicle dwellers are so miserable that they don't even noticed. But I certainly do. It's practice for holding my breath going into that place. And the people are nice enough. They just work in a stinky building, sun-deprived and not remembering the taste of clean fresh air brought in on a summer breeze. They don't even have any too-powerful air fresheners installed like the Catholic church, where you walk in and get hit with a wave of fragrance so powerful it takes your breath away.
Basically, delivering news papers is a job that lets you get a feel for other peoples' lives. You can make up stories about the people you meet based on what you come to see and learn about them. You bemoan the obvious lack of driving education, particularly concerning the use of hazards. You get to know your city streets very well, more so than people who have lived in that city their entire lives. You see things other people completely ignore, simply because those things are obstructing the driveway or just got knocked over with a wayward paper. And it's all great writing material.
I had a thought today: does the White House get a newspaper? Like, delivered by an average person with other papers on their route? Or would it be the only paper on their route? Do they tip well at Christmas? Or is the paper specially delivered? Makes you think, doesn't it?
Okay. I'm done being weird.
(Oh! Tonight is a Blue Moon. Just thought you'd like to know.)
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