I have only two packages to deliver this morning, a record low since I began work back in October, when I was too inexperienced to be trusted with more. Now, my First Overnight route is normally the second heaviest, and I arrive ten minutes earlier to the station in order to get it all delivered on time. I guess today is just a light one for FedEx Express.
There is a flutter in my stomach that has nothing to do with deliveries, the most typical cause of anxiety on these early mornings. I grip the steering wheel and bite my lower lip as I peer through the heavy rain at the tail lights in front of me, contemplating the task that awaits on my return to the station. I don’t have to do this today, I tell myself again. I could wait another few days, another week. Schedule that dentist appointment first and take advantage of my health insurance. Deposit a few more paychecks. Perhaps that would be wise...
But no. I shake my head and force myself to think about another day in another vehicle about a week ago, the day my casual fantasies cemented into firm resolve.
I can pin it down to a moment. I was on Alpine driving north towards I-96, in what I thought would be a clever detour around the traffic on 131 where the left lane is closed. But either everyone else had the same idea, or I underestimated the ability of the people of northwest Grand Rapids to flock to their cars in early afternoon on a Saturday. We were creeping along, barely moving, and I still had several miles to go before I reached my destination, a PakMail all the way up by 4 Mile where I was scheduled to do a pick-up. As I watched the minutes tick by on my dashboard, all I could think about was all the boxes and envelopes I still carried in the back of my truck, each one adding precious minutes to my total time on the road.
It had been a rough morning. Within seconds of entering the station at 7:30 am, one of the other employees said to me, “Did you hear about the planes?” They were both over two hours late, apparently, putting us hopelessly behind schedule. My heart sank. Today of all days? I was planning to drive to Chicago immediately after work to watch my younger brother run in a track meet and to visit with some dear friends of mine, some of whom I hadn’t seen since in many months. Now I wasn’t sure if it’d even be worth it to make the drive. I wanted to sit down on the dirty cement floor of the station and cry.
Ok, so maybe I was being a little dramatic. But it my defense it was 7:30 am, I hadn’t slept enough the night before, and I had managed to convince myself that morning---as I somehow managed to do nearly every Saturday morning---that this day was going to be different. That it would not be stressful. That we would be light on freight and I would get done early.
It was rarely so.
The late planes (which, by the way, did not mean we got to sit in the break room eating donuts waiting for the packages to arrive) were only the first of a number of problems. The other problems included, but were not limited to, short-staffing, a million envelopes left over from Friday, a 5K and half-marathon downtown that had the dual effect of closing some roads and jamming others, and my perpetual problem of being assigned the most stressful route. Oh, also, it was April 20th and snowing.
So by the time I was stuck in traffic on Alpine, watching as the minutes and my chances of making it to Chicago that night slipped away, I had long ago lost my ability to roll with the punches. “Keep it together, Britta,” I muttered, but I could feel my face growing hot and tears pooling around my bottom lids. A light turned red, the digital clock ticked another minute, and I gave up. I let the tears roll and said loudly, firmly, to anyone in my truck who happened to be listening, “That’s it. I’m quitting!” And that was that. It felt good. I sent out a few dramatic texts to make it official.
But now, driving my van down the highway while listening to a symphony of thunder and rain, I am feeling a little more hesitant about that final and decisive act of quitting. The walking into my boss’s office and saying the words part. I’ve never actually quit a job before, I realize. All the other jobs I’ve had were temporary, with a set end date, so I never needed to bring up the topic of leaving. (When I worked my last day as a waitress at Bob Evan’s the summer after my freshman year of college, I was technically on an “academic leave of absence.” I never went back to alert them the absence would be permanent.) My managers at FedEx have known since the day they hired me that I would not be a career currier, calling FedEx my home for the next 30 years. But still, I’ve only worked there eight months, which---while longer than I’ve worked consecutively anywhere else---is really not that long.
When I arrive at Capital Communications, my second and last stop of the morning, the rain turns to pea-sized hail. Little white pellets bounce off my windshield and roof, and I wonder how long I can wait in the parking lot before Brian, the owner inside, starts to wonder what I’m doing. Finally, I pull on the hood of my jacket, clutch the FedEx box to my chest, and dash for the receiving door.
On my return to the station, I steel myself for the conversation with my boss. My heart is pounding a little, but I want to get this over with. I walk to his office---no boss. Another manager tells me he’s out on the road. Shoot. Just when I had worked up the nerve.
I have contemplated quitting this job for quite some time. While the pay is good, I know it’s not leading anywhere and wouldn’t want it to. But still, quitting anything is hard and humbling, especially now that I finally feel like I know what I’m doing. FedEx doesn’t own me or my time, but that doesn’t prevent me from feeling a little like I’ve let them down, disappointed them in some way. Also, I worry about the time and money gap leaving will create---but not nearly enough to change my mind.
I tend to elevate extreme busyness and the stress that comes with it to a level beyond what it deserves. Packed schedules are better than empty ones. Stress is better than boredom. I’m not very good at relaxing unless I feel like this relaxing is “accomplishing” something. Which, of course, rather defeats the purpose. Switching from a routine that involves 55+ hours of work per week to one that hovers closer to 30, at least for now, might be a bit of an adjustment. As much as I complain, I do take a bit of pride in my ability (though that seems too optimistic of a word) to handle three jobs every day, and I feel like it makes up a little for the fact that I’ve been out of college for a whole year (yikes!) and am still living at home. But I’ll have the time to reevaluate some things now, and I think that will be good.
I decide to return to FedEx after my second job when I’m pretty sure my boss will be back in his office. I don’t want to drag this out another day. I feel better, more adult, wearing a dress and cardigan anyway, as opposed to my regulation FedEx uniform which even I can’t take myself seriously in. I still haven’t decided if the too-big purple and navy polo looks better tucked into my extremely high-waisted pants and billowing out around my rib cage or untucked and swimming about my mid-thighs (also interfering with placement of my PowerPad holster). It’s a losing battle either way, I think.
Once in his office, I stutter out my news, and he takes it surprisingly well. He’s even happy for me, or so he says, that I’m moving on to bigger and better things. I breathe a huge sigh of relief and sign my two-weeks notice.
Thank you, FedEx Express, for delivering a paycheck for the past eight months, teaching me how to reverse a truck into a narrow parking spot, and providing me with a free Halloween costume for next October. It’s been a good run, but I’m ready for a new beginning.
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