Tales From the Road: Part I

Because massage work is fairly inconsistent, I also work at driving for FedEx (Home Delivery, not Express, or Ground - they are all different companies). I've taken over the summer vacation routes this year, so I've been getting behind the wheel quite a bit recently.

I am reminded of how weird people can be. Especially here in Vermont. In rural areas.

For the most part, it's a pretty sweet gig. Nobody harasses you about doing any tasks, or gossips about how many more kids Brangelina have adopted, or tells you when or how you have to deliver boxes. If I finish early, I'm done. If I take a really long time, I swear a whole lot and get pissed at myself.

On the other hand, there are tricky parts of the job. You spend a lot of time alone talking/swearing at packages or other drivers, almost tripping on scattered toys in yards, and accidentally passing by the house you needed and having to turn around (which might require more swearing). Sometimes the box says "Lift with a partner" but here's the thing - it's just YOU. And chances are this is the biggest and heaviest package you have all day and it needs to get up two flights of stairs to an adult store (oh yeah, that just happened).

By the way, if you're a girl, it's in your best interest to pee whenever possible at an establishment with flushing toilets. Don't have to pee? Too bad - do it anyway. Because when the need strikes, your only option might be the side of the road, or risk incontinence the next time you grab a heavy box.

Lately, I have started to play little games to entertain myself during the 8-10 hours I spend on the road. The first is Bumper Sticker-isms. Profound knowledge, or even just a chuckle, can readily occur in two lines. My favorites this week: "Nice Truck - Sorry About Your Small Penis" and "Witches Parking: All others will be toad".

I'm a fan of dogs, but I'm not a fan of ill-behaved dogs. Sadly, I encounter these dogs regularly. For the most part the ones outside are just hanging out and bark at me out of excitement at a total stranger driving up to their sacred domain. Others are truly pissed off that I'm there, but lack the testicles to really take me on. I don't carry any treats with me or any shit like that because I don't agree with rewarding bad behavior (human or canine). So I just get out of the truck and go about my business and they just watch me ignore them. There was one time where a dog was flipping out, and I could tell that he was hostile, but he kept his distance...until I turned around. Then he lunged at my ass. I turned around and said "Hey, what the fuck?! That's not necessary!" and he stood there, head tilted. Now who's tough, beeotch?

My second favorite game is screwing with the ill-behaved dogs that get shut up in the house all day. I just love getting to the door and watching the dog FLIP out at me while impotently scratching the hell out of the door, spit flying on the glass. It just tickles me silly. Interestingly, the only dog who didn't bark from inside the house was a rottweiler. Go figure.

The most amusing attack I've ever had was by a flock of geese and chickens. They started honking and clucking as soon as I hopped out of the truck and by the time I got to the door and placed the package, there was a semi-circular flock of fowl closing in on me. I escaped the encounter without having to throw down, but I've never seen a goose so pissed off before. 

Once in a while, you take a risk, and the risk doesn't pay off. But you get a funny story out of it. When you look at a map of Vermont, some roads are depicted in certain ways to let you know the condition - a wider, solid road is perhaps a highway, or major road, whereas smaller, skinnier roads are less well traveled (or maintained). There is a special type of road to watch out for in my line of work - the dashed line. This road may be sketchy, or even impassible, depending on the season. Also known as "Class 4" roads (even using the word road is generous) these are the trickiest to navigate if you don't know the area. The line may start solid, then turn dashed on the map. When it becomes dashed is where trouble begins.

Turns out I had a delivery on such a road. I would have avoided the dashed section, but there was none. It was ALL dashed.

I drove halfway down and had little trouble. The second half was increasingly sketchy, reduced to two evenly spaced bands of packed mud. I encountered a woman riding her horse. She gets visibly irritated that I have snuck up on her and her horse. She says, "This is not a road, you know. There's just a big mud hole up ahead."

Perfect.

Apparently I was thrown off by the street sign and the houses that were perched along this not-road. My mistake.

There are many more miles to drive this summer and I'm sure I will have more tidbits to share. Hopefully some of those tales will be from me...running.