A Day in the Life ...

Statistically, this has been a good week: fifteen jobs, few of which have been local ones.  It involved three early mornings, with deliveries on Monday and Friday at start of business in King's Lynn, and on Tuesday at 8.0 in Syston, Leics.  Wednesday found me taking two jobs to the south coast, a surgical table to a private hospital near Portsmouth, and then some point-of-sale materials to a major clothing store about to open a branch in Bournemouth.  Thursday's main task, two deliveries in Reading, was followed by a hospital transfer from Stevenage to Cambridge.

With neither great excitement nor any concerns about activity levels to report, I thought I would focus my article this week on the social side of the job.  I have often commented that this isn't the ideal occupation for a married man, both from the point of view of the unpredictable hours that the work demands, and also as regards the earnings, which wouldn't finance the running of a family household without a considerable contribution from wife or partner.  Quite apart from this is the loneliness factor.  Not only is there the isolation in the cab whilst driving, but also a severe limit on the amount of social contact during the course of the day.

I usually begin my day with a 'quiet time', a spell in my armchair with a cup of tea while I follow a course of Bible reading, reflect upon the activities of one of a number of missionary or caring charities, and commend to God the day before me.  Something prompted my thoughts yesterday morning in the direction of the limited encounters that my work allows with other people.  I think I have mentioned before that, since the relocation of the office a year or so ago, I'm now working from home; this does allow me much more time to devote to my family history researches, but I reckon it has at least halved the number of people I have contact with.  A quick count up in the quiet of yesterday revealed that in the previous 24 hours I had exchanged words with only eleven people; I now realise that this is far from unusual, for on Tuesday this week the total was one fewer.  Nerd-like, I shall bore you with the details.

I had collected on Monday afternoon the goods I was to take to Leicestershire.  They came from a printing firm in Hertford, and stayed in the van overnight.  I had decided that to arrive at the destination by 8.0, I should need to leave home about 6.0, which was unsociably early to have breakfast first, so I left a little earlier, and stopped for a meal at a diner on the A1.  My first contact was therefore with the lady who took my order, and the second the brief exchange with her colleague who brought the plate to my table.  I arrived at the factory only a couple of minutes after 8.0, and wondered why I'd been asked to be there so early.  There was no sign of life as I drove into the yard, just the company van parked in the corner.  I locked my van and took a walk around, whereupon I discovered that the front door was wide open - someone must be about!

Returning to the van, I found the bell-push and alerted a member of staff, who quickly unloaded the goods and signed my sheet - contact no. 3.  I was home by 11.00, switched on my computer and made a drink, thinking that the day was possibly over work-wise until perhaps the collection of a similar early delivery for the morrow.  Not so.  With my coffee left steaming on the desk to be re-heated when I should return, I was sent down to Broxbourne, where I was given a parcel to take to Liverpool.  These two locations are depots of the same international company and, in common with many such places, there is a strong security presence.  So at each place there were forms to be completed as I entered the site, in addition to exchanging words with the person giving me and receiveing the goods - bringing my day's total to seven persons.

On the way to Liverpool I decided to stop for some coffee at Derby services on the A50, a favourite watering hole, and on the way back I needed to refuel, so I pulled off the motorway at Knutsford to take advantage of lower-than-motorway prices.  I also enjoyed a pleasant exchange with the cashier there, who warned me that a new pump had been installed that day for 'supreme' diesel, and that if I didn't want to find myself paying significantly more I should avoid using this by mistake on another occasion.  By now, of course, the day was moving on, and my stomach was reminding me that there was nothing in the van to eat, so I stopped at the Rugby truckstop for a meal on the way home, where the brief exchanges with chap who took my order - and later served the meal - scored my tenth interlocution of the day.

So, do I feel deprived by this apparent loneliness?  Not really, because I tend to be quite a self-sufficient sort anyway; but I am aware of the effect it can have on me, and on others who follow the same pattern of life.  On occasions, I find I have to make a distinct effort to join in the sort of 'normal' conversations that many of my acquaintances take for granted.  As a result, no doubt I come across as rather aloof or 'stand-offish', until a closer relationship has been - necessarily slowly - established.

It's very definitely a 'square-hole' job, suited only to life's self-confessed 'square-pegs!'