It's still (always) cool to send love letters.
Thursday, February 16, 2017
Saturday, February 11, 2017
DAY 5: Some unfortunate news...
I found out I will not be required to wear a uniform. I won't lie and say I'm not disappointed (weirdo alert). But. I will go on. Also, I passed my driver's test with flying red, white, and blue colors so take that Dale Earnhardt.
DAY 4: FACT: I'm a shadow.
Today, (well, this past Thursday actually because there's a motorcycle show in town and my best friend is here and we all got kinda saucy last night. But ANYWAY), I witnessed the inner workings of how you and everyone else we know gets the mail. And you know what? It's a pretty old fashioned system that depends highly on human organization, largely reading and categorizing every single piece of mail. Each instructor I've had this week stressed the fact that I'll likely quit before the end of the first month because the workload is overwhelming in the beginning, but not to be too worried, and that I'll get the hang of it soon enough. To be honest, I haven't felt any stress since I started this whole thing...I'm mainly curious and excited to be learning something completely new and different than anything I've done. I know this advice is not specifically directed to me, but comes from a place that is experiencing a high turnover in the post office. Going postal anyone?
Here's the truck bucket I sat in for the ensuing 6 hours. It was a stormy day, raining cats and dogs and chickens and hamburgers and everything else, and I signed up for this on my own free will. Below, about 1/4 full.
We finally got moving and left the post office around 10am with a belly full of packages.
Sink or swim!
The first half was pretty slow, but picked up after we covered all the rural homes. You can refer to this photo as the "before" picture that I'll likely reference after I have something more interesting to share. To be continued...
Lil' Nikki out.
Friday, February 10, 2017
DAY 3: I'm a woman in a man's world
Today, I want to write about Joel. Joel is the driving instructor for the in-class portion of becoming a carrier. I should have known he was a red flag when I saw his sculpted facial hair--a thin chin strap with a small tuft below his butt chin. Hair gel. A wide soul patch. It strikes me as a cross between rogue Amish meets a less cool Henry Rollins. Joel is a retired police officer. He is also a retired firefighter. He is probably 40, and 5'9". According to Joel, the sound accompanying a cartoon USPS rocket blasting off at the beginning of every lesson module projected onto the wall, is akin to the arcade game Galaxian...also, his favorite sound. At first, he is unassuming and friendly. But soon I realize he is kind of sad and probably wants to be liked. I think this because he makes a lot of crass jokes in the first two hours of the day's course.The first two hours of my interaction with men today.
I'm in a new room, small, colorless with high windows that show the tops of downtown's buildings. More fluorescent lighting. There are a dozen men in this room with me, and no other women. I notice this only when he describes a scenario where a fictitious woman driver cuts off a carrier, hits the brakes, and makes a right turn, and he says, "Of course she does." I think this could be said because she's simply a citizen driver unaware of her surroundings..most likely not because she's a woman. I'm so aware of my woman-ness that I don't want to be accused of being a woman for the sake of it.
Moving on, he describes how luxurious taking "a dump" is going to feel when you get paid overtime. He details it so sincerely that all I can picture is this shortish, pallid man sitting on a toilet doing just that. There's a few uncomfortable chuckles, but mostly, I avert my eyes because it's gross and I'm starting to feel real bad. The whole thing is unfortunate. Joel transitions this story with a disclaimer that the upcoming slide, showing a blonde cartoon female carrier in four different situations that may affect her performance to deliver mail., i.e., "vision", "injury", "illness", etc., is noteworthy. He warns us that one student in a former class pointed out the depiction for "injury" features the cartoon woman in a neck brace that looks like a ball gag. He didn't know if we would've thought that, but "he just can't get it out of his head, and now we won't be able not to think that either!" he laughs and says. I almost said that myself. I felt like the emoji with wide eyes and a flat mouth. "See? What did I tell you, it looks like a ball gag! It just does." I start writing all this down.
Further into the hour, he shares an anecdote meant to portray how often road rage, especially among citizens, happens. We, as carriers, always default to the mantra: "I give you the right of way" so as to avoid collision and road rage ourselves. In this story, he describes a man who gives him the finger for driving slowly along a route and then later realizes that Joel is HIS mailman and gets embarrassed. Now, please lower your comedic interpretations dial to the "college humor" setting. Joel shares that his response in this case was "Well Mr.Johnson, I'm glad you're being a JOHNSON today." (insert Chris Farley here for all the right reasons.)
This continues in many forms. He points out that the acronym for "Standard Mail" is "STD" (insert Joel chuckles and predictable sidebar conversation). He thanks a student for bursting out laughing at a bullet point that says "Never finger the mail while driving" (insert more Joel chuckles and assuming commentary). He points out that the term "hooking" is another "unfortunate term" used to describe pulling the truck up to a mailbox in correct form.
If it isn't clear, the tone in the room is set, and the men are chuckling somewhat freely and comfortably. My face is beet red and flushed, and I'm trying to decide if I'm being unreasonable or if this is one of those situations you read about. Well. You're reading about it. I wish I was writing an "American Pie" sequel. I wish I was paid to explain this.
I am so embarrassed for him and I feel so weird. Weird like "Why do I feel weird?" kind of way. And "What is another way to express the word, weird, so people know exactly how weird I feel?" I started keeping a tally of how many times I yawned--18 times before 11:45am and 6 times between 12:15 and 2:30. Respectively. I'm so worried for human kind at so many points this morning. Especially myself. (Am I going to get publicly made fun of?...I thought this for a while. What did I miss in this captivating driving course while I thought this?)
You may be wondering, what did I learn about driving an LLV (Long Life Vehicle)? I can tell you that I merely stayed awake those first two hours for the sole fact that I waited for my instructor, my convenient superior, to make another sour comment. It eventually enlivened me to speak out. At 9:30, we had our first break, where I promptly walked to the restroom, checked all stalls for occupancy, and called my friend, Joella. "Hey girl. I wanted to touch base with you about our plans for tomorrow night!...so stoked to.....(sees empty stalls)..ok. Dude. I'm having some feelings. I'm at this driving course for my new job, am the only woman, and my instructor is being super inappropriate....how is it ok to say "ball gag" or "finger the mail" while thanking a student for laughing at this? It's making me extremely uncomfortable."
This would be a good time to state that I absolutely do not hate men. I don't hate women. And I don't hate anything in general. I'm not an angry person looking for situations to get upset about. I like watching Pixar movies for goodness' sake. Needless to say, I was not prepared for this kind of reality. Part of me wants to thank this Joel because I'm reminded how acutely woman I am. How empathetic and thoughtful we are....yet, how easy it is to be less than...and all the forms of what "less than" entails. Another part of me feels so hot. So upset and boiling. Because I still don't know how this bs happens when we claim to be sophisticated and put a badge on it.
Funny enough, Joel changed his tune almost immediately after that break. (Did he have a microphone in that restroom?) Who knows why or how. I felt relieved that I didn't have to call him out. I did feel on alert though, so when he began discussing the female anatomy in regards to the seatbelt situation in a LLV vehicle, I couldn't help myself when saying "I'd like to point out that some men also have that anatomy" with the goal to signify that men, too, have anatomical breasts as do transgender folks. Boobs/man boobs/ blobs get in the way of seatbelts. Period. To his credit, Joel went into police mode and cited protocol of the course explanation for this segment of the class. I don't know if it was a defense mechanism or professionalism, but J$ made a response that didn't make me feel awkward at least.
After lunch, I became more yawn-focused and less worried about feeling like an extra-lonely female. Joel asks the class to share any interesting driving stories. He shares that he has 3 children. He doesn't make one crude joke for hours, even when faced with phrases of "pull through parking" and "pull out parking". It's almost as if I had to join the club (by being on alert for dumb phrasing) to premeditate my defenses. From 7:30-9:30 that morning, I felt invisible...wondering this must be why men's bathrooms are far more disgusting than women's bathrooms. "Do their attitudes reflect their cleanliness?" My dad told me years ago that ALL men were dogs...except for himself and my brother. All I can say is that, oh yeah, I remember...I'm a woman. No thanks for making me feel "alright" that time you asked me what my favorite movie was at 7:30 this morning--"Big Trouble in Little China"--only to applaud me and then forget I'm not a dude. I'm not mad, just annoyed that I have to deal with this crap.
I'm in a new room, small, colorless with high windows that show the tops of downtown's buildings. More fluorescent lighting. There are a dozen men in this room with me, and no other women. I notice this only when he describes a scenario where a fictitious woman driver cuts off a carrier, hits the brakes, and makes a right turn, and he says, "Of course she does." I think this could be said because she's simply a citizen driver unaware of her surroundings..most likely not because she's a woman. I'm so aware of my woman-ness that I don't want to be accused of being a woman for the sake of it.
Moving on, he describes how luxurious taking "a dump" is going to feel when you get paid overtime. He details it so sincerely that all I can picture is this shortish, pallid man sitting on a toilet doing just that. There's a few uncomfortable chuckles, but mostly, I avert my eyes because it's gross and I'm starting to feel real bad. The whole thing is unfortunate. Joel transitions this story with a disclaimer that the upcoming slide, showing a blonde cartoon female carrier in four different situations that may affect her performance to deliver mail., i.e., "vision", "injury", "illness", etc., is noteworthy. He warns us that one student in a former class pointed out the depiction for "injury" features the cartoon woman in a neck brace that looks like a ball gag. He didn't know if we would've thought that, but "he just can't get it out of his head, and now we won't be able not to think that either!" he laughs and says. I almost said that myself. I felt like the emoji with wide eyes and a flat mouth. "See? What did I tell you, it looks like a ball gag! It just does." I start writing all this down.
Further into the hour, he shares an anecdote meant to portray how often road rage, especially among citizens, happens. We, as carriers, always default to the mantra: "I give you the right of way" so as to avoid collision and road rage ourselves. In this story, he describes a man who gives him the finger for driving slowly along a route and then later realizes that Joel is HIS mailman and gets embarrassed. Now, please lower your comedic interpretations dial to the "college humor" setting. Joel shares that his response in this case was "Well Mr.Johnson, I'm glad you're being a JOHNSON today." (insert Chris Farley here for all the right reasons.)
This continues in many forms. He points out that the acronym for "Standard Mail" is "STD" (insert Joel chuckles and predictable sidebar conversation). He thanks a student for bursting out laughing at a bullet point that says "Never finger the mail while driving" (insert more Joel chuckles and assuming commentary). He points out that the term "hooking" is another "unfortunate term" used to describe pulling the truck up to a mailbox in correct form.
If it isn't clear, the tone in the room is set, and the men are chuckling somewhat freely and comfortably. My face is beet red and flushed, and I'm trying to decide if I'm being unreasonable or if this is one of those situations you read about. Well. You're reading about it. I wish I was writing an "American Pie" sequel. I wish I was paid to explain this.
I am so embarrassed for him and I feel so weird. Weird like "Why do I feel weird?" kind of way. And "What is another way to express the word, weird, so people know exactly how weird I feel?" I started keeping a tally of how many times I yawned--18 times before 11:45am and 6 times between 12:15 and 2:30. Respectively. I'm so worried for human kind at so many points this morning. Especially myself. (Am I going to get publicly made fun of?...I thought this for a while. What did I miss in this captivating driving course while I thought this?)
You may be wondering, what did I learn about driving an LLV (Long Life Vehicle)? I can tell you that I merely stayed awake those first two hours for the sole fact that I waited for my instructor, my convenient superior, to make another sour comment. It eventually enlivened me to speak out. At 9:30, we had our first break, where I promptly walked to the restroom, checked all stalls for occupancy, and called my friend, Joella. "Hey girl. I wanted to touch base with you about our plans for tomorrow night!...so stoked to.....(sees empty stalls)..ok. Dude. I'm having some feelings. I'm at this driving course for my new job, am the only woman, and my instructor is being super inappropriate....how is it ok to say "ball gag" or "finger the mail" while thanking a student for laughing at this? It's making me extremely uncomfortable."
This would be a good time to state that I absolutely do not hate men. I don't hate women. And I don't hate anything in general. I'm not an angry person looking for situations to get upset about. I like watching Pixar movies for goodness' sake. Needless to say, I was not prepared for this kind of reality. Part of me wants to thank this Joel because I'm reminded how acutely woman I am. How empathetic and thoughtful we are....yet, how easy it is to be less than...and all the forms of what "less than" entails. Another part of me feels so hot. So upset and boiling. Because I still don't know how this bs happens when we claim to be sophisticated and put a badge on it.
Funny enough, Joel changed his tune almost immediately after that break. (Did he have a microphone in that restroom?) Who knows why or how. I felt relieved that I didn't have to call him out. I did feel on alert though, so when he began discussing the female anatomy in regards to the seatbelt situation in a LLV vehicle, I couldn't help myself when saying "I'd like to point out that some men also have that anatomy" with the goal to signify that men, too, have anatomical breasts as do transgender folks. Boobs/man boobs/ blobs get in the way of seatbelts. Period. To his credit, Joel went into police mode and cited protocol of the course explanation for this segment of the class. I don't know if it was a defense mechanism or professionalism, but J$ made a response that didn't make me feel awkward at least.
After lunch, I became more yawn-focused and less worried about feeling like an extra-lonely female. Joel asks the class to share any interesting driving stories. He shares that he has 3 children. He doesn't make one crude joke for hours, even when faced with phrases of "pull through parking" and "pull out parking". It's almost as if I had to join the club (by being on alert for dumb phrasing) to premeditate my defenses. From 7:30-9:30 that morning, I felt invisible...wondering this must be why men's bathrooms are far more disgusting than women's bathrooms. "Do their attitudes reflect their cleanliness?" My dad told me years ago that ALL men were dogs...except for himself and my brother. All I can say is that, oh yeah, I remember...I'm a woman. No thanks for making me feel "alright" that time you asked me what my favorite movie was at 7:30 this morning--"Big Trouble in Little China"--only to applaud me and then forget I'm not a dude. I'm not mad, just annoyed that I have to deal with this crap.
Tuesday, February 7, 2017
DAY 2: I'm a mofo'ing federal agent
Day 2. More orientation-ing.
I tried to teach myself to sleep with my eyes open. Didn't work. Instead, I learned more acronyms and forms to fill out in case I want time off, move stations, or sign up for a thrift savings plan. I'm sure there's a code for using the bathroom that needs to be documented as well.
Most importantly, I took an oath and I'm a legit FEDERAL AGENT nyyyyooooowwww betches! (lightning bolts lightning bolts really big lightning bolts)
Learning to drive a little golf cart tomorrow. Andrijauskas out.
Monday, February 6, 2017
DAY 1
Hey. You're now reading a blog written by a woman with a new job--the mail lady. Better known as the retirement job everyone daydreams about. I'm 35 and only semi-retired from teaching elementary school students. So, I like to think of this as a living artist-in-residency for the government. I'm Nicole, and actively seeking the "weird" that everyone's always talking about. I arrived in Portland 8 months ago, heart-broken but strong willed, needing to find a way to support my artisanal donut/cocktail/motorcycle/everything else impulses. I started thinking about endeavors that would support making art, like painting murals, that would also be flexible and included some element of working with a handful of unknowns. And, just like that, driving down NW Broadway, there was sign. A literal sign. It said "The USPS is hiring!"...it was a SIGN.
After jumping through two months of hoops, I sat through one power point presentation after another today during orientation. Maybe it was the florescent lights in the cave-like room or maybe I was hungover from watching the Super Bowl, but a little piece of me died in there. It's a bit awkward to admit that. I usually find a silver lining somewhere. "It's only Day 1..." I thought casually. I never imagined I'd wear a uniform. Ever. You guys...I was voted "Best Dressed" in high school. But whatever. That was then, this is now. Just watch me magically transform. Then, I looked up and realized the seemingly humdrum 40 year old guy instructing the class had red painted finger nails. And a Hawaiian flower choker. (a Hawaiian flower choker?!) And a USPS short sleeve collared shirt, i.e., a uniform. There he was...very much himself. I had red painted finger nails too. The silver lining. I was in Portland, this is a new world, I should start a blog Lindsey told me. I should get real corny we said. Who knows? Maybe your local mail lady does more than deliver the mail...
...I wouldn't hate it if I got to ride in a convertible down Main Street one day for bringing people together.
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