Today, I celebrate a momentous occasion.
The end of my career as a newspaper carrier.
It lasted 2 days (plus the required 2 weeks notice which I shall endure as a sort of purgatory for my overwhelming stupidity). Aside from hand-raising puppies (which is a level of insanity not to be mentioned here), they have been the longest 2 days of my life.
I should have seen it coming.
The good people who hired me said that according to the computer's calculations, it would take me 60 to 90 minutes to complete the route.
Mua-ha-ha-ha-ha!
I should have done the math myself.
In order to deliver every paper inside of an hour and a half, I would have to average one delivery every 50 seconds. But on Canada Street, the houses are v-e-r-y f-a-r a-p-a-r-t.
:(
Even with a car, I could not deliver those papers in less than two hours unless I was Superman.
Or Superwoman.
Is there a Superwoman?
It doesn't matter, because even if there is ... I am not she.
My first day, Canada Day morning, we picked up the papers at the Marysville Irving at 6 am. Nathan drove the car and I called out the house numbers and ran frantically though the rain to deposit each paper safely in each mailbox.
We dodged blind corners and potholes and slippery grass and hidden house numbers and crafty mailboxes.
It took us over 2 hours. I was soaked with sweat by the time we were finished.
Being the psychopath that I am, I thought that making a better map would help. Even on my own, I would be able to beat the time Nate and I set together.
How wrong I was...
This morning, I awoke at 4:15 and made a map, complete with ordered house numbers. I counted every single one to make sure I had them all, then showered and fled out the door at 5:30 so I could be at the Irving when the papers were delivered (usually at 6:00 am).
I was there in time all right. 6:00 came and went. Then 6:10. Knowing I have to be at work at 8:00, I called the carrier hotline, only to be told that the press was late, but not to worry - they'll be dropped off by 8:00, so you have until 10:00 to deliver them.
Seriously???
I was already on my way back home to spend 45 minutes with my hubby when they called again. The papers will be here in 5 or 10 minutes, they said. I turned around and headed back to the Irving.
6:20 came and went.
6:30...
6:35...
Finally, a nice man in a van named Jim dropped off the papers.
(The man, not the van, was named Jim.)
I only got half of them delivered before work, and I was still late.
Not to worry, said the Gleaner, we'll send out a broadcast saying that they won't be delivered until 6 pm tonight.
Sure...
After spending 8 hours painting a classroom the exact same crappy off-white color that it was before, I drove back to Marysville. I didn't get home until 6 pm.
All in all, I got told off by two old ladies (apparently they didn't get the Gleaner's memo about the late delivery), had my arms bruised by more than one screen door, got lost, was told I failed to deliver to an address that I distinctly remember delivering to, and swallowed a mosquito (which almost made me throw up).
Newspaper carriers around the world, I salute you!
(But you can no longer count me among your brethren.)
If anyone wants to be a martyr for 2 weeks (possibly less) ... Facebook me.
I'll pay you everything they give me (about $150/week).
But I wouldn't recommend it.
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