I was walking out of a stranger’s garage near Warren — or maybe it was Boardman or Niles — when the owner caught me.
“What are you doing in here?” she asked, her voice equal parts indignation and fright.
I froze, just as taken aback as she was. Pointing to my blue vest and then to a box on the floor, I said, “Amazon delivery. It says to leave the package in your garage.”
Her relief was palpable.
It was just another odd encounter in a job filled with them. For the past five months, I’ve been an Amazon Flex driver, delivering across northeast Ohio and parts of West Virginia and Pennsylvania.
The gig started as a coronavirus lark, a way to get out of the house when there weren’t any other places to go. Quarancheating with a purpose.
As a Flex employee, I drive to a distribution center in North Jackson (in Mahoning County), pick up 12 to 40packages, and use my own car and gas to deliver. Shifts last three or four hours. Twice a week, like magic, money appears in my bank account.
I’ve driven through flash floods, down streets that have no name — with apologies to U2 — and across communities of every socioeconomic status, following an app that leads me by the nose from one stop to the next.
Sometimes, though, the app is wrong. On one occasion, it tried to send me off the Ohio Turnpike and onto a maintenance-truck-only access road secured with a gate. On another, the street it suggested ended a mile from the destination. I had to park and hoof it through the woods, smacking my head on a tree branch to complete the delivery. (Arnold Schwarzenegger’s Terminator has nothing on me.)
Since we are in the middle of a pandemic, no matter what your clueless neighbors with their hundreds of Labor Day guests might believe, customer reactions to Amazon drivers are varied. Some greet me like a conquering hero, showering me with accolades and offers of food and drink. Others view me as one of the four horsemen, carrying disease.
One customer sent her toddler down the drive to take a package straight from my hands. Another shouted at me to leave it on her porch, and as I drove away, I saw her soaking down the box with Lysol.
It’s almost impossible to screw up. I scan each box or envelope with the app, which alerts me if I’ve selected the wrong one or if I’m too far away from the delivery site. Packages are numbered in delivery order, so if I can count higher than three dozen, I’m good to go on most days.
To deliver is to see the myriad ways that people live, from hardscrabble existence on one side of town — or even one side of the street — to sprawling McMansions on the other.
If this weren’t Labor Day weekend, I might work harder to make a point about materialism and the American Dream; wax poetic about that bedrock of the economy, the hourly worker; or question the viability of the gig economy, where employee protections are shrinking almost as quickly as giant, soul-sucking corporations are growing.
But since it’s a holiday, I’m dispensing with all the heavy-thought stuff and leaving you with a few practical takeaways.
One, home delivery is convenient, but it comes at a price. That two-dollar item that arrives on Sunday night costs considerably more to the environment. Bundle it with a few other products for the planet’s sake, not to mention the mental well-being of the poor sap trying to keep body and soul together by hauling it to your door.
Two, delivery people love dogs — when they’re tied up and not gnawing our legs.
Three, it costs nothing to say thank you, or to smile and wave.
Four, if you live in a gated community or a secure apartment building, don’t have packages sent to a guardhouse or leasing office that closes at 5 p.m. Many deliveries arrive later than that.
Finally, make sure your house has the address displayed somewhere in big, bold numbers that glow in the dark. Not just for delivery drivers, but for ambulance services and police protection. You know, the important stuff.
These days, I’m semi-retired from the Flex business. The wear and tear on my vehicle was considerable, and other responsibilities have taken precedence.
Still, every once in a while, it’s fun to load up the trunk with packages and deliver smiles, to borrow a corporate catchphrase.
And even if I never do it again, I’m keeping the blue vest. It’ll make a great Halloween costume, or at least a convenient excuse if I ever decide to explore a neighbor’s garage.
chris.schillig@yahoo.com
@cschillig on Twitter
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