Going Postal: Day 2

elvis-stamp.jpgDAY 2: Sex & Anthrax

Today was my second day on the job at the post office. Actually, it was my second day of orientation and training. Tomorrow is when I actually start working as a mailhandler. Today was just more of what we got yesterday, which was 8 hours of protocol and procedure. I don’t recall much of yesterday, other than we spent more than an hour going over the ins and outs of sexual harassment.

A guest speaker from Human Resources came in and explained to us everything we could possibly want to know about sexual harassment and misconduct at the work place. I was laughing to myself, because at my last job safeguarding against sexual harassment was a joke. I once had a co-worker ask me if I had ever had a woman put on a strap-on and fuck me in the ass. Seriously. This same co-worker once asked me, in front of everyone, “Is that pussy I smell on your breath?”

During the training session yesterday, the woman asked us to raise our hands if we would find it offensive or objectionable if we saw a couple holding hands in public. No one raised their hands. Not much of a surprise there. Then she asked us if we would find it objectionable or offensive if we saw co-workers holding hands while on the job. Over half the class raised their hands. I was shocked—which I guess goes to show how naïve I can be. I wondered what the same group of people would say about me throwing a hump into a co-worker on the table in the big conference room. Now, I’m not saying I ever had sexual intercourse with a co-worker on the table in the big conference room at my old job, but let’s just say that if getting crumbs on the floor bothered my old boss, he certainly would have been upset with me for the mess I left.

Much of today was a blur. They crammed so much stuff into our heads, and most of it just went in one ear and right out the other. We watched a bunch of industrial training videos, the best of which was called Was It Worth It, and it starred Edward James Olmos. I’m not making this shit up, the video was made back in the early 1980s, when Olmos was on Miami Vice, and he actually appears in pseudo-character as Lt. Castille. The whole thing had to do with preventing crime within the post office. The shit was surreal. But clearly someone thinks enough of it that it is still being used as a training video twenty-something years later.

Of all the things we learned about today, the one thing that sticks in my head was what happens to us in the case of exposure to anthrax. After the trainer was done explaining the finer points of quarantine and decontamination, I almost threw my hands up and said, “Excuse, but fuck this shit.” Unfortunately, there’s a little thing called “bills,” and those bad motherfuckers need to get paid. So, I guess I have to take my chances.

Yesterday I was feeling pretty good about having a job, but today…well…let’s just say I started to wake up and smell the poop. As I fought back the tears of grim resolve at the destination my life journey had brought me to, I reminded myself that one of my favorite writers, Charles Bukowski, worked at the post office. Then I remembered that David Berkowitz—better known to the world as the Son of Sam killer—was also a postal employee. I became more depressed as I came to grips with the realization that I am not the writer Bukowski was, and that if I wasn’t working beside the next Berkowitz, I might actually be him.

I almost lost it at one point today. There was a woman sitting near me who simply would not shut up. All day long she kept talking to the guy next to her, never paying attention, and periodically asking the instructors, “What did you say?” People like this make me sick. Like that asshole on the flight to Los Angeles a few months back, who actually started to make a call on his cell phone, as the plane was taking off. The flight attendant had to run down the aisle, literally, as the plane was coming off the ground to get Mr. Dumbfuck to turn his phone off. Now, the flight attendants had made the announcement about turning the phones off, and this guy, who was dressed in a business suit, didn’t look like a total fucking ‘tard, but clearly he was…that or this human shit-stain didn’t think the rules applied to him.

It was the same thing with Miss Diarrheamouth, who just kept talking and talking and talking. When the instructor broke us for lunch, he said, “Meet back here in thirty minutes, you can leave your stuff here, the door will be unlocked.” Unfortunately, the lady who seemed incapable of shutting the hell up didn’t hear what he said—because she wasn’t listening—and she suddenly got all freaked out and concerned. “What did he say? Did he say we need to take our stuff because they’re locking the room?”

Motormouth Momma starts throwing a bit of a hissy fit, because she doesn’t know what we’re supposed to be doing, even though the instructor stated it quite clearly. But she was so uncertain of what was said, and so vocal about her uncertainty, that she started to make other people confused. Next thing you know, her stupidity is spreading faster than the rage virus in 28 Days later, and there’s a whole group of people who have joined her in her dumbfuckedness. Suddenly, there are about ten people who don’t know what’s going on. Are we supposed to take our stuff from the room?

I swear, I was about to lose my mind. I wanted to scream at these people, “If we were supposed to not return to this room after lunch, don’t you think we would have been told where to go, you fuckin’ idiots?” But I realized that saying something like that to people who would be offended by co-workers holding hands on the job might get me into trouble. And considering I haven’t actually started the job, trouble is something I need to avoid.


One Response to “Going Postal: Day 2”

  1. iowan Says:

    remember… this is just a stepping stone to get you back on your feet financially… don’t annihilate the dumbfuck people! LOL! they are a trap. they are merely distractions! hahaha!
    anyway, good luck on your new job.
    i’m looking forward to reading your further adventures in the land of postal.


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