Getting it into Perspective

A few weeks ago I expressed my surprise that this year has started as well as it has.  I have a system - a sort of code - by which I rate each week's activity. Each week I record the miles driven, how productive those miles have been and the total amount I've earned, and each of these is monitored against the budget I set at the beginning of the year.  If the total earned and the profitability of the mileage are better than budget, then I designate that week as 'silver'; if I've managed that with the added benefit of driving fewer miles than budget, then the week is a 'gold' one.  So two silvers and two golds in the first five weeks of the year, when things usually fall flat after Christmas, was a noteworthy achievement.

I'm not complaining; there have been a number of big expenses lately.  Some were expected, like new spectacles, and the annual tax disc for the van (I believe that, in its wisdom, our government has now changed the way this is to be administered, and this will probably be the last actual disc I buy - but the tax will, of course, continue!).   Other expenses came out of the blue, like a couple of major repair items for the van, and a new set of tyres, so the unexpectedly good weeks have been a blessing.

Now things are back to what passes for normal, not just in the level of work, but in the mixture of easy jobs and those that make you think 'why on earth can't they give me the full story at the beginning?'  I wrote a couple of weeks ago about a particularly uncomfortable time at Heathrow airport, for example.  This week has included three more bewildering jobs, and I hope I won't bore my readers with too much fine detail.  But before these depressing elements, I have to record too that Tuesday was a dream day.  I left quite soon after breakfast to collect three small but heavy wooden boxes from a firm in Hoddesdon, to go to Bolton.  On the way, in a direct line as it were, I picked up some metalwork in Luton to deliver in Smethwick.  I eventually arrived at Bolton just before the factory there was about to leave off, and enjoyed the most tasty lamb hotpot at the truckstop at Markham Moor on the way home.

If you don't like it when things go wrong, here's where you switch off.  A lot of our work involves visiting hospitals, and I've lost count of the number of different ones I've been to.  A fairly basic pattern is common to most of these jobs - either we are delivering something fairly mundane that goes to the general receiving area, sometimes designated 'goods in', just as in a factory setting, or else 'stores'; or we are delivering priority equipment required within hours for an operation, in which case this goes straight to the theatre.  In the latter case it seems acceptable, whether strictly correct or not, that we park in the 'drop-off' zone near to the main entrance, and can quickly walk through the building to the required department.

The two hospitals I visited this week proved more difficult, frustratingly so, because they were both fairly local to our base.  On Wednesday I made two separate deliveries to one that has recently undergone extensive re-modelling. My first delivery was addressed to the Treatment Centre, a new addition to its facilities.  I approached the reception desk, only to be told that they couldn't accept any deliveries: I must go to the main hospital.  I did as I was bid, and predictably got sent away with "If it's for the Treatment Centre, then you must take it to the Treatment Centre!"  I rang the office for further information or instructions, and obtained the name of the lady to whom it was supposed to be delivered.  Armed with this, I returned to the site of my first refusal, and after a phone call, was ushered to the lifts and thence to the theatre on the fourth floor.

An hour or so later, I returned to the same establishment, with goods for 'Theatres'.  More sure of my ground, I went to the theatre in the main hospital, where, after pointing to a key word on the label, 'Surgi-centre', the staff there redirected me to the theatre in the Treatment Centre - just where I'd been before!

The last job of my week was to another hospital, with a box labelled 'Central Stores'.  Unable to see a direction post for 'deliveries' as I drove onto this new-build site,  I approached reception to see where I needed to go.  "It's right round the back!" came the reply, so I followed the gesticulating arm, and drove round the back, only to find a number of patient services with their own entrances, and an even greater number of car parks, but no goods entrance of any kind.  After further instructions from reception, assisted by a phone call, I discovered an unsigned turning that took me close to the perimeter of the site, correctly to the rear of the hospital, only to find that the receiving staff had left off for the weekend some two hours previously!  Guess where I'll be headed first thing on Monday morning ....

Earlier in the day, I'd made a collection from a hotel.  Now, more often than not - in fact, I might say, exclusively in my experience - a collection from a hotel is to recover marketing or display materials after a conference or sales gathering of some sort.  Sometimes we might meet the personnel of our customer, who are only too pleased to hand the stuff over to us, hop into their luxury limousines and drive off.  On other occasions, they have already left, after depositing the goods with reception or security staff for safe keeping until we arrive, sometimes not until the next day, according to instructions.  So, early in the morning, I bounded up to the reception desk in this large Berkshire hotel and announced that I was collecting a couple of units for our customer P---.   Blank faces abounded.  No one knew anything about it.  After a few fruitless enquiries, I was back in my van to call the person whose number I'd been given for just such a problem situation, were it to arise.

The line between the two mobiles wasn't great, but I managed to establish that I was in fact collecting two air conditioning units, and my understanding was that these were on a building site behind the hotel, where extensive renovations were being carried out, and could be found in container no. 3.  I drove round the building and did indeed find a building site, with about eight or nine containers.  One was clearly the site office, but was locked up. Enquiries led me inside the hotel to speak to someone who might know where these items were to be found.  The man didn't know; but anyway, he said, if they were in a locked container, the people with the keys wouldn't be on site until the following day.

Once more, phone calls were exchanged from me to the office, reporting this apparent difficulty, from the office to the customer to see if other arrangements could be made, and from the person I'd phoned earlier to clarify to me his earlier instructions.  It seemed that what I had understood as 'container no. 3' was actually the container that was being used as 'the canteen', where he had left these items for ease of access when they were collected.  All that remained then was to get them into the van, and off to our customer.  When I arrived, I was greeted with a smile. "I understand you've had some trouble ..."  I started to explain.  "That was Sam," said the man, as he unloaded the units onto a pallet.  "He's our customer's customer; he ... " In order to express his disapproval of the man, he then described a personal contortion that doesn't belong here, but of which he said Sam would be quite incapable.  So far as I was concerned, our customer was happy, and I drove away with a satisfaction that outweighed the foregoing frustrations.

Now all I have to do is get up early enough to get to that hospital again by start of business on Monday.  At least I know where to go now ... !