Effedex

 

I drove a delivery van for five years back in the 1970s. It was a very easy job and my all time favorite job. Although I eventually regretted giving it up, I wanted to move on. The man I worked for was generous and pretty much let me be myself on the job. Oh, and he let me use the delivery van as my own vehicle when I wasn't working. Five years of not worrying about car payments or insurance. Why did I quit such a cushy job? California was calling me, but that's another story.

Yesterday, Sunday, I got a delivery from a Fedex truck. There are four basic delivery options that deliver to my house. Amazon is probably the best. The drivers are courteous, always leave the package inside the front door of our building, and park their trucks in legal parking spaces. Also, they send me a snapshot of my package in the vestibule. Second is UPS. Their drivers are usually pretty friendly, generally deliver the packages to the correct address, and look hot in their summer shorts. Third delivery option is the United States Post Office. They don't leave a snapshot of the package in my email, but they almost always get the address right. At least within sight of my house so they're easy to track down. At the bottom of the list of delivery companies, is Fedex. I'm sure there are some fine people who work there, but I've seen the crazy shit. Often Fedex drivers do not pull over into a parking space, even if the street is full of empty spaces. No, they like to stop in the middle of the street and turn on their blinkers. On more than one occasion I've seen a Fedex driver get into an argument with drivers they've blocked. Man, this is Chicago. People carry guns in their cars so you should never get into an argument, or cut somebody off on Lake Shore Drive. That thought alone is enough to make me a very courteous driver. Now to the reason I'm bitching about Fedex. I got a delivery yesterday. It was Sunday and the item being delivered really didn't need to be delivered on a weekend day, but it was. I saw the big Fedex van pull up in front of the house, in the middle of the street with blinkers on. What I didn't hear was the front door to our building vestibule open and close or my doorbell, nor did I see the top of the delivery man's head pop up by the front window. He simply tossed it onto the porch, turned and ran back to his truck. On a wet, sloppy day, he left the package outside on the porch. He was so stealthy that Scout didn't even bark. Like I said, I was a delivery guy back in the 1970s. It's not a hard job.