Wow. Working in the bowels of the downtown post office is incredible and only a little hellish. My first night I worked a 12-hour shift, which is not uncommon. Half-hour for my brown bag lunch. Constant running around dodging forklifts and gigantic iron mail holders on casters. I work from 6pm to 4:30am and likely won’t get a day off before New Year’s. Note: I’m 53, and haven’t had a job that didn‘t involve a desk and chair since the mid-80s. 

This isn’t a “poor, pitiful me” post. My body is painfully adapting to the workload, and it’s taking a little less time for me to recover each day. I’m inspired by the diversity and demeanor of my coworkers, who, for the most part, are cheerful, supportive folks, who go home after 10-12 hours and take their kids to school, or go to another job. Holy. Shit. Nothing but respect from me. Don’t know if I’ll “make this a career,” but it’s been a mind-expanding experience. And Jeezus people, learn to wrap a goddamn package! I found a box of bullets that had broken open and had to gather them all up on a moving conveyer belt, while explaining to a coworker the difference between Woodland, Woodburn, and Wood Village. Postal power!