Post Post Office Ramblings, aka "The Milkshake Made Me Do It"

Two full weeks and one day later, I turned in my badge and quit the postal service. I promptly purchased a celebratory milkshake at Sheetz along with a few Reese's cups, and for that I apologize to you, my voluntary audience. Judge me gently for what follows - there is no plan, and I'm on a sugar high like you've never seen.

Before this summer when I thought of the USPS, I don't know what came to mind. Definitely the cranky lady who delivers our mail - it's not our fault that Zelienople denied our plea to be part of their city - and a lot of bored-looking clerks sitting behind counters. Maybe the mailman from Christy, he always made me smile...

"Beautiful, ain't it! Just been told us by the gov-ment in Washington. Now looky here, I figure that if rain or snow, nor none of those things are meant to stay us couriers, then we shorely can't have no gal-woman stayin' us."

Nothing I've ever seen prepared me for the "Logistics and Distribution Center." I know that shows my age and inexperience, because my father isn't at all surprised when I describe the machines we work with. Maybe some of you would be surprised, too, if you walked into that rush and clatter. Semi trailers docking, unloading, loading, and departing at more than 60 doors are just the beginning - five sorting machines, and an army of people just like us either feeding machines or sorting packages manually. I've gained an appreciation and healthy respect for conveyor belts, one that grows every time I finish a shift.

So my world has been made a little bigger, in the most basic sense, by this little brush with industry. Did you know that it costs less to ship almost anything through the Post Office than any of the other shipping companies? True story. I've learned a lot of other things, too...

For example, I always thought that when Quentin Tarantino put language in his films, he was being hyperbolic. People don't actually cuss that much, right? WRONG. They really, really do. They swear when they're upset, when they want you to do something differently, when they're frustrated, tired, stressed, or injured.

They also swear when they're happy, in the middle of normal conversations, when they're joking, indifferent, or have nothing better to do. It's ridiculous.

Then there's unions. I've watched North and South and I'm pretty well-read in Pittsburgh's history - I have half an idea of why unions exist and, even, why they're important. I'm grateful that union labor regulations require the post office to give us 15 minute breaks every two hours and a half-hour lunch (even if it is off the clock). What I don't understand is... well, everything else about them. And how casual employees survive as long as some of them do - we do roughly twice the work at half the pay, with no hope of improving our position and desperate not to be fired.

Of course, you also have to be careful, because there are two ways to yourself kicked out - not working enough, or working too hard. The best advice that I should have followed earlier in my casual employee career was "Sometimes working smart means working dumb." There's no way we're a threat to union jobs, but if a regular decides they don't like you they will make your life hell.

Oh the things I could say... but I'm coming off that high and realizing how pointless this post is. So what's the deal? What's the moral of this story?

First, never assume you know what you're getting into. When in doubt, don't ask a supervisor, ask another casual so you can look dumb together. Never volunteer for extra hours, because if they don't keep you today, they'll keep you tomorrow. Don't pull the mask off the Lone Ranger, and never, never, eat off of the break room table.