The Saturday from Hell (please excuse the dramatics)

Considering my last post was about how much I dislike Saturdays, it seems unfair to barrage you with yet another round of complaints against that day. But yesterday was so terrible, it was (almost) funny, and since the first thing I did when I got home was frantically type out a description of all that went wrong, it seems a waste not to let someone read it.

I should’ve known it was going to be a rough day as soon as I woke up that morning. I was emerging from two nights of near sleeplessness, and the ground was covered in about a foot of new snow. At the moment when I glanced out the window and made this discovery, I wasn’t actually worried about it. My mind, apparently, is still in that school mode where snow storms are the most exciting thing in the world because they mean sleeping in and a day off. Though this is no longer true, somehow the snow still excited me. I didn’t think about the fact that I was going to have to drive around in it all day.

When I got to the FedEx station, I learned that we were short a few drivers, so there would be no flex. That meant that if my route got assigned more packages than I could handle, which it often does, I couldn’t pass them off to anyone. This was the first of the bad news. Someone in the higher ups of FedEx gave our station a Service Disruption due to the weather, though, so at least I wouldn’t have to worry about lates---they were automatically excused. I was still feeling optimistic about the day.

Until I got stuck in the snow. At my very first stop. And everything went downhill from there.

The house was on Liberty street just south of downtown where the homes are old and small, and it was at the top of a very steep hill. As soon as I turned down Liberty and started creeping up the hill, I knew there was no way I was going to make it. The road had not been plowed, and my wheels were already spinning on ice. So I figured I would be smart, stop my truck right where it was, and wade through the two feet of snow up to the house. A bit of a walk, but then I could reverse out of Liberty and onto the clearer street below. This would’ve been a good plan if it had worked.

When I got back in my truck after dropping off the envelope, it took me about two second to realize I was in trouble. In the process of stopping the truck, I had slid back into a snowbank, and the back tires were completely lodged. For about ten minutes I tried rocking the truck backwards and forwards, switching between drive and reverse and angling the wheels in all possible directions. I even got out of my truck and tried to dig out the tires on my hands and knees, covering myself with snow in the process and feeling more and more sorry for myself as time passed and my fingers and toes grew numb. Eventually I had to admit defeat. I made an embarrassed phone call to Dispatch.

She said it would be about an hour before the tow truck arrived.

As I slumped into the driver’s seat, I tried not to make eye contact with the curious neighbors who were all out shoveling their driveways and watching as every five minutes or so I stirred to make last-hope efforts to escape.

The one redeeming aspect of my day arrived 30 minutes later in the form of a hispanic man with a minivan. I’m thinking about writing a letter to this man. It would say:

To the kind soul who pulled the FedEx girl out of the snow on Saturday:

I was skeptical at first that your minivan had enough horsepower to pull free my truck, even after you told me about the four-wheel drive and the police officer you rescued. But you proved me wrong. Thank you for driving to your shop to get your chain, and please thank your friends too for so kindly assisting me. I’m sorry I was freaking out so much and kept stomping on the brake.

Sincerely, your friendly neighborhood FedEx girl

The man with the chain and the minivan pulled me off the Liberty and on the adjacent street. And I was free. Free to go forth and have the worst day of my life.

Ok, so it wasn’t the worst day of my life, but it was pretty bad. After that first 45 minute delay, I got stuck again about 10 minutes later, although this time I was able to free myself with some effort. I learned from this that I couldn’t drive down most residential streets that hadn’t been plowed, which consequently meant parking blocks away and hiking through the snow in my FedEx-approved black shoes (note: shoes, not boots) which were soon soaked. I was flustered from all that was going wrong and from how slowly I was progressing from stop to stop, so I started making mistakes---missing streets and turns, etc---which of course only made me more flustered and more prone to mistakes. At noon, I had only delivered six packages. Usually, I’m on my way back to the station by noon, done for the day.

The last straw was an innocent-looking little package addressed to 1139 College SE. I am convinced this house does not exist. And if it does and you live there, I’m sorry that you did not get your package on Saturday, but you really should live somewhere easier to find. I wandered through the snow for several freezing blocks before giving up and returning to my truck (slightly panicked because I had parked it smack in the middle of a street blocking all traffic---it was my only option!), package still under arm. And then I called my dad. When he told me the address I was looking for was exactly where I had just been wandering, I about lost it. Actually, I did lose it. “No it’s not!” I cried. “I was just there. There is no 1139! It doesn’t exist! I hate this job! I hate all this snow!” I started to gasp like a three-year-old, my voice broken by sobs. “I can’t drive anywhere and all the roads are blocked and I’ve already been out here forever and I’ve only delivered six boxes and my toes are cold and I can’t read my maps and this just sucks! And that house doesn’t exist!” Sleep deprivation really wasn’t working in my favor at this point.

My dad did the only thing he really could do in that situation: he pretended like I was behaving totally rationally and informed me that if I had anymore questions, I could feel free to call. I thanked him and hung up. I can’t believe this, I thought. I am a deranged, hysterical FedEx driver. I should be in a movie. It wasn’t exactly a comforting thought.

After that I delivered 17 huge, heavy boxes to this girl’s apartment on the 2nd floor (I think she may have noticed how annoyed I was with her), 42 boxes to an office on the 3rd floor, attempted to enter several locked apartment buildings, tried to turn the wrong way down a one-way street more times than I can count, fishtailed every time I accelerated, dropped off 4 large boxes of human blood, got stuck in the Grand Rapids Auto Show traffic, and then was forced to take a 30 minute break at McDonalds so as not to violate work rules even though all I wanted to do was finish up and go home.

I’m not sure I’ve ever uttered more profanities in such a short period of time as I did that day. Good thing there was no one there to hear me.

When I finally got back to the station, I had been out nearly five hours later than usual.

There is no moral to this story, other than to say that the day eventually ended, even though I thought it never would. And I am in a much better mood now. I just hope it doesn’t snow like that again.