Philosophical Wax from a Shipping Employee

So I work at a shipping store. And I don’t get the world’s greatest treatment from my customers or my superior. But right now, that’s immaterial.

I like my job. Or maybe I like the idea of my job.

There are probably a number of people who consider my job non-essential. I often count myself one of them. Nobody’s ever going to force you to ship something. There are about 7 different options to deliver something from Point A to Point B. I recognize that. The non-essential nature of my job [I say this in a very grand scale way, at the very end of time, are people going to look back and say, “Thank Joss we had shipping stores?”] is quite often why people complain about our prices. I can dig it. Shipping is expensive. But I challenge you to drive to California on only $14. Please do. Robert Downey Jr. couldn’t do it with or without Zach Galifianakis.

Maybe what excites me most is the fact that I get to use my imagination.

You have no. idea. the kinds of things people ship. It’s insane.

You get the regular business people who send businessy things. You get the regular online shoppers who won’t learn that home shopping network deals are too good to be true. You get the embarrassed guys who return Victoria’s Secret items for their ladyfriends (They actually disguise their company as VSM on the label, probably for the purpose of discretion. You can’t fool me).

Then you get people who send two foot by three foot tin sculpture of a flying pig. And people who send a package of bread rolls–just like regular grocery store bread rolls. People who send awards and photographs and newspaper clippings.

Point is, there’s a story in each of these items. For these particular examples, I know them.

A couple in Wisconsin purchased the pig online through someone’s Etsy store or antiques’n’things store or whatevs. This thing, it was HUGE. And kind of creepy. It was a little bit like a ‘found things’ sculpture. It was whimsical. And it took forever to package. I don’t know what the Wisconsinites were planning to do with it, but I secretly wish they would call me and let me know.

The bread roll lady was funny. Every year her whole family gathers up north for a big family Thanksgiving, and that year, she couldn’t make it. She would always be responsible for bringing the bread to dinner (that would probably be my contribution if my family ever did this…), so she was shipping a package of rolls she got from the grocery store next door just so her family would have a little piece of her at dinner.

Now I’m just getting sappy.

The point is.

Is there a point?

I think so. I get an insight into what people are like and what other people think other people would like. And that’s nice. I suppose I could just as easily ask people to tell me about themselves. But I like to involve my imagination. Besides. Fiction is always a little more fun than reality.