Waiting ...

It goes without saying, perhaps, that in this line of work there can be a lot of waiting.  For example, it was long understood that, if we got to the place of loading at the appointed time, and were kept waiting more than 20 minutes, then we would get paid 'waiting time'; similarly if, after arriving at our destination, we were kept waiting before the goods were unloaded and signed for, anything in excess of this magic 20 minutes would be paid for.  There are some occasions when access to a loading bay is delayed by a rigid queuing system, and we might have to wait for the unloading of other, much larger, vehicles.

Eventually, as was ever the case, the payment system became ill-used, and waiting time was regularly claimed by some drivers on certain jobs, whether applicable or not, so a ruling was made that all waiting time had to be signed for on our delivery sheets.  However, there was often no one available who was willing, or felt authorised, to do this, and in the face of all these difficulties, coupled with the fact that some customers refuse to pay it anyway, I have long since not bothered to claim it, whatever the circumstances.

In any case, this kind of waiting is small compared to the time when we can be waiting for the next job, and one bonus of my present situation, working from home, is that I can use my waiting time on something productive, from ironing to writing short stories, from reading to digging into my family history.

This week there have been a number of noticeably long periods of waiting other than waiting at home.  On Wednesday afternoon, for example, I had collected a couple of large boxes from a customer to be sent by airfreight to their clients in far-off lands.  The first had to be taken to forwarding agents in Uxbridge, where I followed the usual instructions to wear hi-viz clothing and enter a door marked 'All drivers report here!'  Inside I found myself along with two other drivers in a small wire cage, through which we could see the warehouse staff busily going about their business, and at the same time totally ignoring us.  After a few minutes, one of the others said, with characteristic irony, "They're funny things, these hi-viz jackets - they make you completely invisible!"  Eventually it became apparent that out of all the staff present, only one was dealing with incoming goods, and it was well over half an hour before I was unloaded and on my way again.

As it happened my next job was to collect something left for me at the customer services desk in a Tesco superstore.  Here both the customer services staff and I were the victims of 'Chinese whispers'.  So far as I was concerned, I was collecting an envelope, which is what I told the already very busy staff behind the counter.  Not being aware of such an item, they searched high and low for an envelope that might have been left with a previous shift for collection; phone calls were made to staff in other likely departments; the assistant manager of the store was also involved  ... all to no avail.  All I could tell them by way of assistance was the name and business of our customer, on behalf of whom I was collecting; I had no idea what was in the envelope, and therefore had no idea of the size.

An hour after my arrival, following extensive searches and enquries within the store, a phone call to my office, and others to our customer, from them to Tesco, and back down the chain, I emerged with not an envelope, but a hard, black A3 folder containing just a few paper notes.  Apparently 'folder' had been interpreted as 'manila folder', and then 'folder or envelope', and so on. Eventually I learned that our customer's sales rep, to whom I delivered the item, had left this behind in error earlier in the day, and only discovered its loss some miles away when he arrived at his next call.

Friday morning brought more 'on-the-job' waiting.  I was up early, having been deputed to arrive at a company in Waterbeach at 6.30 am to collect goods for our customer in Royston.  My arrival - at half-past on the dot - caused something of a sensation.  Yes, goods for our mutual customer had been processed during the night, but since they had no idea I was coming, let alone that early, the paperwork wasn't ready, and indeed the member of staff responsible wouldn't arrive until 7.0!  As it happened, he was early, and prepared to get straight onto the task, and soon after 7.0, I was loaded and on my way.  It gave me an unusual opportunity to admire the cleanliness and tidy organisation of a factory, and compare it favourably to those within which I've worked in the past.

Today brings me happy memories connected with a totally different sort of waiting.  Tomorrow sees the start of the Christian season of Advent: a different sort of waiting - both preparation for Christmas, and a time of looking forward to the Second Coming of Christ.  Almost thirty years ago, when I was studying German, my teacher recommended that those of us who were interested might benefit from paying a visit to St Michael's Church Hall in the centre of Cambridge.  Here, for many years, it had been the practice of the city's Lutheran community to hold an annual 'Advent Fair'.  It was, you might say, the 'original version' of the sort of Christmas paraphernalia that Prince Albert introduced to Victorian England (like our adored Christmas tree!)  I went along to it at least two years, and it was as good as she had foretold.

To visit what on any other day was just a bare church hall was, on that occasion, like stepping into a foreign wonderland.  There were presents and decorations to buy; there were pine decorations, the scent of which was quite intoxicating; and lovely cakes and sweetmeats, too. ...  Oh, the variety of fare to eat, both savory and sweet, was truly remarkable.  The event concluded with a short service conducted partly in English and partly in German, as were the carols that we sang.  I visited Cambridge again in the mid '90s with an idea of going there again, but the hall was closed.  I think the Lutherans have their own church building now, and presumably if the event still happens, it would be there.  Nothing, however, can replace for me that special atmosphere, with the medieval stonework and Gothic windows as a backdrop.

Ah, well!  Back to the twenty-first century!