The truth is that I spent three weeks delivering Yellow Pages. In a bag. To your front porch. In scorching heat.
Okay, I have not one, but TWO Master's Degrees. I am smart. I could have taught music lessons or tutored kids in Spanish. Hmm, I would have had to keep my house clean. I could have taught a class at one of the many camps for kids, but that would have meant daycare or camps for my three younger kids while the oldest one was getting ahead with summer classes...and with that cost, why bother working? So I chose something that I could have a little control over, where I could choose routes close to home or in my neighborhood, and check in on the kids or even take them with me. (Shh, you didn't hear me say that. No one under 18 is allowed to go on deliveries, so that's our little secret. Thanks.)
About twenty years ago I spent a couple of summers delivering one of those once-a-week neighborhood newspapers. I remembered that it was hot, but it wasn't bad. Of course, they didn't weigh quite as much as the Yellow Pages. And I didn't have to put them in bags. Or take them to your front porch. But I knew that I could do this.
So, one Monday early in July, I went to the Yellow Pages Office that had temporarily been set up as a warehouse, filled out an application, and watched a video on the correct way to deliver the books and keep records as I delivered. I learned to put the books in a bag on the front porch at the hinge side of the door so no one would trip over them as they came out. I learned how to circle the addresses as I delivered them and make notes if I could not put them at the front door for some reason ("vicious dog," "closed gate," "construction," "no such address"). The most important thing I learned was to never, absolutely NEVER put them in, hang them on, or even drop them next to that all-important Federal Property known as the USPS mailbox. You could get in BIG trouble for that. I don't even want to go into it. If I ran into trouble, I was to call the office and let them tell me what to do. We were told our pay - very basic - but if we were to finish the route and the quality was good (they call around to see if people have received the books in good shape), we would also receive a 25% commission on the first route, more on the second, third, and fourth, and finally 100% on the fifth route. Now, tell me, just who in their right mind wouldn't stick around for that fifth route?
I chose a route close to home. It was supposed to be a fairly quick route. About a week later, after my vacation, I picked up about half of the books for the entire route - about 40 bundles of big books (6 to a bundle) and 12 bundles of smaller books (18 to a bundle). Now the work began in earnest. I paid my kids to bag the books from my back porch while I delivered them. Slowly it dawned on me WHY this was a smaller route - the hills. My beautiful city is in a basin, and I was working the outer portion. I went up lovely hills to homes with lovely views. I puffed up yards and pulled myself to those front porches. Finally I got smart, drove up them, and paid my kids to puff up to the front porches. Who in their right mind lives in these places? What do they do when it snows or ices over? Slide down the mountain (literally)? How do they get in and out of their houses when they get old? Then I became really critical. If you have such a big front yard (come on, it's the side of a mountain, for God's sake), why can't you have a driveway that drives around so I don't have to back down your driveway? And where is your house number?
I got smarter with the second route. I chose my own neighborhood with houses on about a third of an acre and a short distance from door-to-door. There were more stops on the route, but it also included an apartment complex - still door-to-door but short distances - and a housing community for senior citizens. My kids became more involved with this route. Several of us would bag books from the back of the car while others would deliver them. Every six to eight houses we would move the car forward and repeat the process. I learned that it was much less strenuous to bag the books from the car rather than dragging them out of the car, bagging them, and moving them back into the car for delivery. It took planning, however, because if I had a full load of books in my car...where was I going to put my kids?
Of course, I bribed my kids with promises of a fat paycheck for them. They don't usually get an allowance so this was a big deal to them. You can cry "child abuse" if you want, but they wanted that money. I have four boys between the ages of 6 and 14. They all had something they wanted to buy that mommy wasn't going to buy for them. I found myself having to remind them - as they would drag the stick along the road or take the long way up to the front porch - that "it doesn't matter how fast or slow you are, we get paid the same no matter if it takes two hours or four hours."
They had their own adventures. One time I noticed my 8-year-old kept taking time at houses with dogs. I watched him to see what he was doing. More than once I found him standing still like a statue as a dog or two swirled around him. You know, the old "stand still like a tree" trick you are supposed to use if a dog is threatening you. "Are you afraid of the dog?" I would ask him. "No!" he'd laugh. As I observed him a few more times, I realized he had come up with a game. The dogs would come running up to him with their tails wagging, looking to see what was in the bag and ready to play. My son would greet them, giving them hope of some great game, then stop...and stare straight ahead. The poor dogs would jump around him vying for his attention, but slowly become puzzled when he wouldn't respond, whimper a little, and limp away with their tales between their legs like a rejected child. I thought it was pretty funny, but I finally made him stop.
Another time we delivered in a senior citizens community. The older people were very nice to us once they knew why we were there. My oldest son, however, disappeared. We needed to move on, so I went back to look for him. About that time, he came running out of a house where we had seen a pizza delivery man. The lady there, who had seen us coming, had complimented him for helping me and wanted to know if she owed him anything for the books. He told her no, but she pressed on. "Well, let me give you money for delivering them." Again, he told her that was unnecessary. So eventually she gave him a piece of pizza! "Eat it here, though, so your brothers don't get jealous," she insisted. Knowing that I was probably looking for him but not wanting to be rude (and okay, he is fourteen and a bottomless pit), he stuffed it in his mouth as fast as he could, said his thank yous and goodbyes, and was still chewing when he arrived breathless at my side.
After three successful routes - and rising commissions, I may add - I arrived at the office to pick up my check and choose a fourth route. "They took all of our routes," the boss-lady told me. You'll have to go to the main office if you want more. She handed me a card where she had written "Real good carrier" and I headed the few miles down the road to the main office. I could pick up a new load and be back out on the road by noon, I thought.
So much for the best-laid plans. I presented the card boss-lady had given to me. I waited for someone to pay attention. Certainly, as much as they wanted to get those last few routes out, they would be falling all over a "Real good carrier." Hm, not this office. I sat until someone decided they would let me choose a route. Within a few minutes I knew which route I wanted. Then I waited as the new carrier in front of me was briefed. I had to fill out and sign new paperwork. "We do things differently here," I was informed by the head-lady in this office. Hm, I thought, exactly what does that mean? Impatient with the wait and concerned about my son sitting in the car, I went outside to check on him. (We aren't allowed to have minors in the office.) Finally, it was my turn. Certainly I'll be out of here in no time now! But no, we had to check the map to see how many cents per book I would get and we had to see what numbers to add and multiply for the pay. Oh, to be back with boss-lady who could do this in thirty seconds flat without looking at a map! Once I had my route confirmation in hand it was on to the loading dock. "Almost done," I thought. Wrong. Not only did I wait for another half an hour, but when it was my turn, the fellow loading my car looked at me and said, "I don't know how I should load your car." "Hand them to me," I ordered and began to fit them in myself. Uhh! What was it with these people? I missed boss-lady.
Typically, each route would require two to three loads of books to fit into my car. I knew exactly how many bundles I could fit in and the best way to put them in. The guys loading the cars were mostly hard workers. On my second trip to the main office dock, I could see them struggling in the heat. "And to think I was only a semester away from getting my college degree," one of the loaders lamented. "Yeah," I laughed, "I have a couple of brothers who decided they wanted to get their college degrees after working in jobs like this." "College is easier than this," he answered. No doubt, I thought. I wished him well before I left. I was glad he wasn't there the next time I visited the dock - in my dream-world I saw him registering for that last semester of classes.
The last afternoon of the route with the main office, I received a phone call from boss-lady. Someone had not finished a route and she needed someone to finish it. Could I do it? I was ecstatic! "Don't take another route from the main office," she said. "You come on back to me."
As soon as I finished the main office route, I went to the main office again to drop off my paperwork. It was 11:30. I had finished a route, so I thought they should be ecstatic being as how people were dropping like flies. Instead, the new head-lady was frustrated that I had shown up when I did. "I'm leaving in five minutes," she pouted with a fevered pitch in her voice. I handed her my route and paperwork. "Oops, I still need to sign it," I said. She sighed and slammed down a pencil in front of me. Smiling sweetly, I wrote my name and handed her the paper. Then the unthinkable happened - my cell phone rang. "No cell phones in the office," she retorted without missing a beat as I quickly reached down to hit the ignore button.
Now, I am a teacher and just as rule-driven as the next person. I believe in rules - they serve a purpose. They keep us from treading all over each other and help us to maintain a sense of courtesy. But if there is one thing I have learned as a teacher it is that rules for the sake of rules can lead to mutiny. No one likes to feel that the rule is more important than they are. I have my cell phone for a reason - to keep tabs on my children. I realize this was not an option even a few years ago, and maybe I just feel guilty that I am not with them as much as other moms, but it is my way of helping them through their little questions when I can't be there physically and of being sure they are okay. I was not being rude - I did not answer my phone when it rang but rather silenced it knowing I could check it later on my own time. So don't you dare tell me a rule is more important than my children!
No wonder they were having trouble in this office. Who was running it? I flew back to the office with boss-lady. I have to admit, I tried to get a little information out of her about head-lady. I was sure there was probably some sort of rivalry there. If she had dirt on her, though, she wasn't giving it up. She was much more Christian than I was feeling at the moment!
Soon I was on to my last assignment. We were delivering in a part of the city I actually had not seen. The houses were HUGE. My three boys began to argue about whether or not certain houses could be considered "mansions" because they weren't nearly as big as that house over there! (Little mansion, medium mansion, big mansion, enormous mansion.) Some of the houses had such magnificent views. One house was beautifully tiled in white and red -very Arabic in style - and had a circular driveway with marble stairs leading up to the door. My son stopped at the top of the stairs after dropping the yellow pages...to just stare. We were all gawking at the view ourselves, so I didn't hurry him too much. "Why, Mom," they asked, "can't we have a house like this?" (The irony and innocence of children - I mean, I'm delivering Yellow Pages to bring in extra money and they ask me that!) "Well, how about you guys get a good education and make a lot of money?," I suggested. Okay, we've all heard that as kids, but admittedly, it did lead to an interesting conversation with them about careers and what they might want to do.
The night before I was to turn in the route, boss-lady's husband called. "Hi, this is Chris. Did you finish the route yet?" For some reason, I had never known his name and I was very confused about who he was. After getting it figured out - and feeling very embarrassed - I assured him that I would be in with it the next morning. They were getting ready to close up the office for good.
The next morning I put the finishing touches on my route and drove to the office for the last time. While I usually had to wait a few days for my check so that they could verify the quality of my route, this time the check was already there! "You have a perfect score," they announced. "Yeah, yeah, whatever you say," I laughed going along with the joke, certain they had cut corners making phone calls to customers to verify the quality of my work. "Really, here it is." Sure enough, there was a print-out of phone calls made about the time I was finishing the route! After Chris gave me some good-natured ribbing about not knowing his name (hey, he wasn't the one giving me the checks), he asked about my real job as a Spanish teacher. "Boy, we could really use you down in Miami to translate," he said.
"Let me tell you something," I continued, "if you would hire these Hispanics around here to deliver these books, you would have them out in no time flat!" It amazes me how many people around here complain about how these "Mexicans" take their jobs. How many people did I see in the Yellow Pages office who obviously needed a job, but who would either decide it was too hard for them or would start it and not finish it? The job isn't hard if you know how to follow directions and have a little common sense. Yes, it is hot and physical, but it is not hard. So you broke a fingernail or worked up a sweat and couldn't take it - others deserve your job then! Uh, I have no patience...
As you can probably tell, it has taken me some time to write this blog. I have impressed (well, probably not really) the other teachers with the tan line along my ankle and my stories. I have said to various students, "Yes, I delivered YOUR Yellow Pages this summer, and yours, and yours...Just how do you get down that driveway when it snows?" Probably one of the funniest stories, though, was when I found out my youngest brother delivered Yellow Pages on summer also. Once, he said, he was delivering at an apartment complex. It was hot and dry that day. Some fellow was busy painting the stairs when my brother passed by. He was dirty and sweaty, but when he looked up at my brother passing by he said, "Uhh - I'd hate to have YOUR job!" To each his own, I suppose!
Maybe you'll see me in January delivering...White Pages.
