Anyone with a time management problem should go to work in the post office immediately. I’m well into Week 2 and am now a master at nodding off to sleep for exactly 11 minutes, which gives me just enough time to get up from the only cozy chair in the break room and jog three miles back to the secret entrance to my hash* so that I can appear (and apparently working, to boot!) before my supervisor (whom I refer to as Mr. Wilson) begins shouting “John!!!”

*A configuration of wheeled mail containers ranging from roughly man-sized to XXL leviathan) adorned with color-coordinated labels that explain to someone smarter than me where this pile of mail is ultimately bound. These containers are mostly OTRs (Over the Road), which look like unpainted dumpsters, and GPs (General Purpose, see photo below).