Welcome to Friday, my friends… only seven more days until the weekend!
The commute is clear, chain conditions have been lifted and road closures are not in effect. Schools are not running buses today, and the flatlanders haven’t begun the terrifying and slow journey— as far from the edge as possible— up the mountain. Enjoy the morning ride.
Again, though, we fall short of filling a column with words about the road conditions. The magic eight- ball says that today… today is random story time— again!
So, I had this courier job. I was paid to deliver items around the Houston area, using my pickup truck. Dispatch would give me an address for pickup, and an address for delivery. Most items to deliver were envelopes containing documents, small tools or equipment, auto parts for mechanics, or other pretty boring things. I was designated as an independent contractor, working on my own time… there was no hourly wage. The faster I worked, the more I earned.
Occasionally, I would receive a job that was given a “hot” designation… this meant that the customer was paying for expedited delivery. It was simply expected that couriers make these types of deliveries a priority, with no lollygagging… get it done as soon as possible. “Hot” deliveries were like the proverbial “beating- heart- in- a- Styrofoam- container” thing, although, as far as I know, I never actually carried a beating human heart, other than the one situated just under my ribs. All OTHER deliveries, well, just deliver them when it works out, when the route gets you nearby, when it’s convenient… but there was no urgency.
I received a dispatch one day for two inflatable rafts. I was to pick them up south of Houston, and deliver them to an address north of Houston… about an hour’s drive. There was no “hot” designation… this was just a routine delivery. And come on… inflatable rafts… what could have less urgency than that? I picked up the rafts, and began my stroll northward.
Now, I typically liked to work hard and fast… more money, the day was shorter, and boredom never became a big problem. However, today, I had other personal errands to run. It was around lunchtime, so I stopped at Wendy’s for an awesome Big Classic. After a leisurely dining experience (which included reading the paper), I strolled on over to a nearby electronics store, where I had some purchases to make, and an entire CD section to peruse. Then I hit Home Depot, which was along the way. I may have even sneaked in a catnap… after all, I had ordered that Big Classic with extra tryptophan.
Finally, towards late afternoon, I had lollygagged my way to the delivery address. It turned out to be an airport. I found the building that received things like inflatable boats, and found a couple of guys pacing about… and they seemed nearly frantic to receive the things.
This was where I learned that an airliner— filled with international passengers— had been sitting on the tarmac for many, many hours. The flight plan had the thing crossing the Atlantic Ocean: FAA regulations require that inflatable rafts be on board (I think it’s because in First Class (where I’ve never been) they have a swimming pool, and rafts are fun to have there). There were no life rafts to be found laying around the airport anywhere, so they found a couple of them south of Houston, and requested delivery… from a company who employs drivers who love Big Classics.
So, while hundreds of travelers were losing their minds sitting on that Texas runway in the summertime sun, sweating and bored and restless, those two rafts were watching me chow down on burgers, waiting for me to select just which MP3 player to purchase, and they sat in my pickup truck as I got paint mixed to juuuuuuust the right shade. Even the rafts must have been bored.
I don’t feel GUILT, exactly… I had not even the slightest idea that this was SUPPOSED to have had an “ultra- freakin’ – hot” designation. Had I known that, of course I would have moved like whitewater, instead of pond water, so that plane could get over the ocean water. But, still, it’s hard not to feel bad about the problem that my willful sloth caused for so many people.
So now, when some ridiculously inane thing has held ME up… well, I generally assume that it’s because somebody, somewhere made some little error (like forgetting to designate a load as, “ultra- freakin’ hot!”).
The good news for us is that the National Weather Service (who has been doing a terrible job keeping us cool lately, I must note) has only designated today as just, “hot,” not “ultra- freakin’ hot….” Don’t lollygag, but take comfort in the fact that at least you probably don’t have an airliner full of people waiting for you to finish your burger!