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New Years’ Return

Liam Spencer

    The Alarm smashed my dream at five, and I went from making sweet love to a beautiful woman to falling off the couch. Hardwood floors are almost as unforgiving as the alarm clocks that tell you that it’s time to go to hell...err...I mean work.
    A third cup of coffee told me it was Near Years’ Eve. 2014 hadn’t been terrible, but wasn’t all that good either.
    I faced another day of getting bitched at. The only thought I was capable of was “Fuck!”

    My car was still at the body shop due to insurance company bullshit. That meant freezing my ass off waiting for the bus again. There weren’t as many attractive women on the bus. They had jobs that allowed them such days off.
    I barely made it in on time, and braced for hell. My face was drawn. I was sick of it all. I knew I would catch hell for things that I had no control over. I was still injured, so was not carrying my route. There wouldn’t be a vehicle for me to use, so I would be stuck. A whipping boy.
    The new acting manager was worse than the old one. We had gone through eleven acting managers in sixteen months. Only two had been good. They were all sent to our station to beat us into shape, despite our performance in such a horrible station. Anyone sent to our station viewed it as the punishment it was intended to be.
    Before I was injured, I could fly under the radar. I would fly through my work and sneak out for the day.
    “Out of sight, out of mind.” That means you need to stay out of sight of those who are out of their minds.
     Now I was stuck. I got yelled at for all kinds of things, most of which I had nothing to do with. It was as if I was being trained to be married again.
    I cased quickly, throwing mail into the right slot with intensities, quietly cussing the whole time. Convo surrounded by old timers, comparing paychecks and gloating about how much they made. It was good distraction. Supes came around getting commitments for time. Old timers argued. Supes walked past.
    “Mercer! One person and one hour for another.”
    “Ok. Thank you.”
     The Supe walked to the next case, over to Don.
     “Don. An hour from Mercer! You’re Mondo’d!!”

    Don leaned over my direction.
    “You know which hour.”
    Don was a friendly older guy who was smart enough to humor people, but stayed distant. Others picked on him for having been divorced too often. He’d humor them too. He at least seemed a genuine nice person, and quick with a laugh. He didn’t bitch people out like the others.
    At least with just Don and a newbie doing my route, the usual regulars wouldn’t bitch so much at me. I was usually getting it from all sides. I grew to absolutely hate being there.
    I raced through the casing, numbered parcels, and got everything ready very quickly. My injured foot and ankle screamed. I went faster still, limping a bit. People were counting on me.
    The newbie who would take most of my route was under fire. He was not yet fast enough. Management constantly threatened his job. As usual, when a newbie was under fire, management sent him my way. I could usually set things up and give pointers that would send their times climbing.
    The pointers weren’t always such inside information. Rather, it could be things like not spreading out parcels in the parking lot and trying to sort them. It takes too long, and gives management the impression that they’re slow. Rather, because the parcels are already numbered by swing, simply put the higher numbers toward the front, and lower number nearest the door, and quickly shift through them before each swing, while out of sight of managers. Street time.
    Newbies just were not trained well. Nor were they treated well.
    Don had his hour’s work, and was gone. The newbie had his and was pulling away. I went back in and began getting my stuff ready. The acting manager ran around yelling. I raced around as I hobbled. He glared at me. I rushed passed, silently cussing.
    Everything was ready. Now came the dreaded moment; finding a vehicle. That meant asking management. Here we go.

    Chad was a newer supe. He was fairly friendly to an extent, but would turn on you in a flash. I asked him first. He was puzzled. There was a blank stare on his face. I went out with a pad of paper to pretend to write down vehicle numbers to keep out of sight of the acting manager.

    “MERCER!!!! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”
     It was him. All five foot one of fury and hate. Fuck.
     “Looking for vehicles so I can get my work done.”
     “YOU DO NOT DO THAT! ASK A SUPERVISOR!”
    “Ok. Ok.”
    He followed me in, bitching the whole way. I hid anger.

    “CHAD!! WHERE IS HIS VEHICLE?! YOU SUPERVISORS SHOULD KNOW WHAT VEHICLE HE WILL BE TAKING.”
    “Maintenance took two vans, and another one is broken.”
    “WHAT?! FIND HIM ONE!”
    “We are trying to.”
    “MERCER! IS EVERYTHING DONE? GO GET EVERYTHING DONE!”
    “Ok.”
     Everything was done. Twice. All I needed was a van or truck. I had to look busy. I raced around, checking hot cases, sneaking to sip from the fountain, rushing to the supply room, reorganizing my drop-offs again and again.
    I wheeled the drop-offs outside to seem busy. Chad was having a smoke. I joined him. He was cold again. I was unwanted company, but I needed a smoke too.
     Shortly, the acting manager ripped supervisors, and came up with his own idea. He would send a different newbie with me to be trained on my stuff. The poor guy was overloaded with his own work and did not have a vehicle either. He would be late, and be in serious trouble. It was a really stupid idea. Why burden him with my work when he had too much of his own, and not enough time to do it?
    Nonetheless, he and I stood there, listening to really dumb ideas. Neither of us had a vehicle anyway.

    Suddenly, a breakthrough. Maintenance had arrived to fix one vehicle. Just as that was settled, a supe named Shane got more news. A different station said we could use one of their vehicles, but were pissed about it. Their supes were blasting ours on how the truck BETTER be back by five thirty. The shouting match had been settled.
    I immediately gave the newly repaired van to the newbie, and forcefully stated in front of the acting manager that the newbie would be late and needed to go as soon as possible, especially with the hellish traffic on New Years’ Eve. I repeated that point, stressing it and staring into the acting manager’s eyes. I meant it. He was silent.
    Shane pulled his new Jeep to the dock. We loaded my stuff into it and went to the other station. The plan was for me to go do my drop-offs then directly return the vehicle to that station. I’d call for a ride back from there.
    On the way, Shane bitched and bitched about the other station. It had been hell to get the vehicle. I was eager to get away from everyone, and looked forward to stopping at a food truck before returning.
    We pulled into the parking lot. Shane told me to go get the vehicle, as he did not want to even look at their supe. I got out of the Jeep.
    “Wish me luck.”
    “Yeah.” He smiled.
    I walked in, and carriers looked me. Was I a turncoat (management)? Corporate? Why was I there?

    A large, intense woman looked at me. She smiled a smart assed smile.
    “Shane sent YOU in? Oh, this is rich!”
    She led me to the key box, handed me a single key, then walked me outside to show me what truck it was. She stormed inside.
    Shane was friendly as we loaded the truck, then he was gone. I lit a smoke and went to do my stuff. Six hour restriction. Thankfully. Six hours seems like thirty eight when in such hostile situations.
    I zipped through it all, then hit a food truck for butter chicken and a Mexican Coke.
     Upon my return to the “enemy station,” the heavy supe waved to me with smoke in hand. She gave the thumbs up. I called my station as soon as I parked. There was no answer. I was six hours in.
    I went over to stand with her, and lit a smoke.
    “You got back early! I like that.”
    “Yeah, I’m on limited duty. Six hour maximum. I’m supposed to be off now, but I’m stranded here. They’re not answering the phone.”
    “Oh. You’re name is Liam, right? You just made career a month ago?”
    “Yeah.”
    Her face lit up.
    “I’ll give you a ride back. It’ll be good for me to give them some shit.”

    A carrier came out to smoke. He was a short little guy. Older. Intense. He bitched about earlier starts, taking the conversation. She argued. He argued more, blathering. She put out her smoke and went inside.
    He looked at me. Intensity. He began bitching about carriers. And bitching. And bitching. All about how superior he is. To test him, I answered back about running too fast and getting injured. My story. He blasted slow carriers and excuses. Uh huh. Apples. Oranges. Power trips. How they want him in management. As if that is of pride. Really.
    I got sick of fantasies of such sort, and went inside. There stood Martin.
    Martin had been a Newbie that management kept sending me to help. He turned to the dark side. A new supe. Suddenly he wore suits every day.
    He now greeted me like an old friend. Uh huh. Now it began.
    “Man, it is so much better here than there! Much lower key. You ought to think about...”
    “Well, I don’t know...”
    He turned to the heavy woman.
    “If you can get HIM. Man. Even when he can barely walk, he is fast. I mean fast. You’ll have to slow him down.”
    She looked unfazed.
    “I know about him. I couldn’t believe they’d leave him here like this.”

    I stood not knowing what to make of it really. I do not take kindly to ass kissing. One can never tell what is what or who is who. I trust no one, generally, and question my own judgment. Frying pan and fire.
    The trip back to my station was all recruitment. I was amazed how the work day had gone. I had gone from getting bitched at to being praised and recruited. I had things to consider.
    It turned out that all the supes had been in a “meeting,” which meant they were getting screamed at. The heavy set supe made rounds talking with people as I rushed to finish up and sneak out. She started talking with the know everything and everyone janitor, Kevin. As I attempted to rush by, Kevin got in my way.
    “You know...” He continued on, pretending to be talking with her “If someone can make it here, at this station, they can make it far easier anywhere. I mean, anywhere in the country. Really. This place chews people up man. Look at what they pull with him.”
    I stuck around for some inside information. I suddenly had much more to think about.

    As I went to leave, at last, the heavy supe called to me.
    “If you ever want help with the bidding process, call us. We will find you a great route.”
    “Ok. Thank you. I certainly will.”
    The bus was on holiday schedule. Homeless guys yelled at cars and people who gave them nothing. Nervous working class people stood together at the bus stop, depending on strength of numbers while staying distant on their phones. An attractive woman brushed me aside as I asked if the D line had already passed. I sighed.
    The ride was short. Few were working. By the time I got home, I had to shit, bad. I rushed inside and sat down. Within a minute, my phone rang. It was a work number.
    “Fuck! Now what am I going to catch hell for?!” I thought. I answered anyway. It was Shane.
    “Hey. I just wanted to apologize for leaving you at the other station. I didn’t forget about you. We had a meeting so that we could all get screamed at.”
    The new acting manager started yelling in the background “Is that what you thought the meeting was ABOUT?!”
    “It’s alright. I got a ride back and made it home.”
    “So, you will be in Friday, right?”
    “Oh yeah, I’ll be there.”
    “Umm....just so you know, we can find you a better route here. We’ll help you with bidding. Just let us know.”
    “Oh, ok. I’d be open to that.”
    “Ok. Good to know. Happy holidays!”
    “You too! See you Friday.”
     I cracked open a beer and checked email. My attention turned to the beautiful woman I was making sweet love to before the alarm. Could it become reality? It was New Years’ Eve after all, and I was going out for the night...
    I showered and got ready. Out the door I went. Excitement and drunks everywhere. The bar was having its’ last night before closing forever. Landmark.
    Possibilities.
    None would be realized. Not one.
    The couch awaited my return. As did my station.

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