your package driver talks about you

and if deliveries don’t show up where you want them it’s a sign (that you’re a dick)

Times are tight these days dear reader, times are tight indeed!

Lately though?

I’ve been saving constantly - saving steps that is.

Typically these days I’ve been stopping at between a hundred and twenty and a hundred and forty homes to deliver gifts. Most of them have front steps.

Today I took the time to do some maths for all y’all.

The average house has four steps going up to their door. Some homes have more. Some have none. But the average seems to be four.

Four steps per stop for over a hundred and twenty stops? That’s like forty eight stories of stair climbing in a day, well over two hundred stories of stair climbing in a week.

On purely a caloric basis, this requires a lot of work, a lot of extra effort.

It requires a delivery driver and his incredibly handsome walking assistant (me) to often go that extra mile for our customers.

But who dear reader are you willing to go that extra mile for?

With us? We go up the stairs for kind people, considerate people who open their door to receive their packages or who shovel their walks.

But if you are picky about where your package goes or when we show up or what doorbell we ring or in any other way attempt to control how we approach your home, your precious package is going to get thrown.

I don’t know quite where it will land but I promise to take a picture of an approximation of where it outta be.

This dear reader is the power to be petty.

At first, I thought Ricky, my driver was deranged in his pettiness.

That guy screamed at me from his deck and demanded that I drag his air conditioner up that hill on a dolly that I didn’t have and complained when I left it at the end of that cliff face he calls a driveway.

So that man?

That man had his packages from the Gap deposited in his green bin. When I got back to the truck Ricky asked me where I put the stuff.

They went in this organic waste bin. It was near the road. I couldn’t determine what the walking surface was like under the snow. His driveway was steep and I didn’t want to risk it. The green bin was a place to hide his stuff so it wouldn’t be stolen

And? prompted Ricky.

And he’s a fucking rich piece of shit in a 1.8 million dollar house so fuck that guy. His kids Xmas gifts can smell like rotting lobster.

I’d like to say that it was concern for my safety. it wasn’t. Safety was the excuse, the justification for simple, direct revenge. We left knowing that we enraged that man - on purpose.

Justice doesn’t always wear a badge.

Ah Jimmy, you’re catching on! Proud of you buddy.

Our very next stop was not a hundred meters down the road. Another rich guy with a beautiful home and a steep driveway. I bounded out of the van.

Good day sir!

Good day! You guys must be pretty busy eh?

Sure are sir.

Well, take care of yourself. Thanks for running my package up to me. You guys are great.

You see dear reader, those who serve you - whether the package driver or the wait staff - we all know you. We all remember. We all talk about how you treat us.

And?

If you’re kind. We’ll leap snowbanks to climb forty stairs.

But if you’re a dick, we will remember. We’ll tell the others. And we will find petty little ways to cause you rage.

So my dear reader, if you find that you’re constantly finding your packages in the hedge or left just far enough away on the front step such that you need to step sock footed into the snow to retrieve them, I’ll suggest you ask yourself what have I done? How did I piss off my delivery driver?

Then?

Then buy them a twenty five dollar gift card for Tim Hortons. We can be bought.

But if you decide that instead you’ll just complain more as we should do as you want, know this, you will not win.

Fire one delivery driver for insolence and another more rancid, petty prick will step up to take their place.

Treat those who serve you like dogs and we will go that extra step - to finally take a shit on your porch.

Love the people who love you and be kind to those who do the jobs you’re unwilling to do.