Thursday, February 2, 2012



That's the sound that rang out over the floor this morning at the Post Office.

Stress. I'll blame stress. Well, the release of stress. Sort of.

No, just plain old stress.

You might remember that I was under inspection at work a couple of weeks ago. I didn't want the inspection. I didn't call for the inspection. Someone else called for an inspection, and I kind of got caught in the crossfire.


So I had Inspectors following me for a week. They watched me sort my mail, walk my route, drive my truck, the whole eight yards.

Yes, I know it used to be nine yards, but the P.O. is cracking down. If you insist on that last yard they'll raise the cost of stamps by another dime, and I know no one wants that.

So there I was, the whole eight yards. Look, I know I've been doing the job for better than 15 years, but having someone stare at you while you're working in the office? Looking for the slightest mistake?

Can you say 'stressful'?

I knew that you could.

And they keep making notes. Little marks on a clipboard. Longer notes, paragraphs on that clipboard.

Can you say 'wanting to turn around and scream what the hell are you writing?'

I knew that you could.

Walking behind you while you walk the route, making little notations in a hand-held computer at each delivery point? Little secret notations? The stupid little buttons on their stupid little machine beep-beep-boop-ing as you're walking along?

Can you picture hearing that beep-beep-boop in your sleep for the week? And seeing clipboards and pencils and stopwatches every time you close your eyes?

I knew that you could.

And then this morning. A week and a half after the inspection ended, just when the bad dreams are starting to slow down, the very day that I was supposed to go in the office to discuss the inch-thick file the Inspectors compiled on me. This was the morning they informed me that all that information they gathered through such close monitoring for a week, the whole kit-and-kaboodle, was being tossed out. Not being used. Instead they are going to use a pattern of my clock-rings pulled from the computer to get my average times and such. All without ever even having to see me!

Can you picture my reaction, making a split second decision, choosing between laughing and crying right there on the workroom floor?


I knew that you could.

I have to go lie down.

Talk to you later!

1 comment:

  1. what a bunch of jerks I would have screamed inside of course and you wonder who makes the stupid things up..
    Do not worry they will get theres what goes around, comes around ....take it easy Rob.