Spot ... the Difference!

That title deliberately has a gap in the middle.  First of all about the Spot.  All of CitiSprint's vehicles are tracked; that is to say, all the PDAs in them are tracked, so the controllers can see on their screens exactly how far each job has got towards its destination, enabling up to the minute reports to be provided to anxious senders without the expense and delay of a phone call to the driver.  They can be 'spotted' on the screen.  The controllers can also spot other vehicles than their own who happen to be in their area.   It's quite beneficial to the drivers, too.  That's how I got the job in Ipswich that I mentioned last week.  Read on, then, as I describe more of this Difference from what I've become used to over the last twelve years.

On Monday morning, I was trundling gently up the M1 on my way to central Milton Keynes with a couple of rolls of insulation for an office block that's being refurbished.  The phone rang, and I was asked if I had been allocated anything else to follow this job once I'd delivered.  My negative was met by a further question, "How far would you like to go?"  The throwaway reply, that my preference was north, and as far as you like, couldn't have been better suited to what came next.  An hour later, I was indeed heading north, with two small parcels of books, one for Chester-le-Street, the other for Johnstone, Renfrewshire.  I was delayed at the first one, but was reassured about the level of driver support available after finding no one at home.  Once permission had been secured to leave the parcel with a neighbour, the search was on to find such a person.  No one responded to my knock at the three houses on either side, and I could find no obvious access to the back door.  Then I spotted a window in the house opposite that was open far wider than merely for ventilation, as were some of the others nearby.  There had to be someone at home there!  Indeed there was, and within minutes I was on my way once more.

The more distant delivery was simplicity itself, for the householder was home from work by the time I arrived.  What's more, the rain had stopped - although more was clearly on its way.  I defied the last tail-swish of Hurricane Bertha, and by 10.0 I'd secured a meal and a room at the truck-stop on the outskirts of Carlisle.  I left at 7.0 am for an uneventful journey home, during which I may have been spotted, but without the reaction of being assigned any further activity.  My office called me as I drew close, and when I explained that I would appreciate an hour or so to gather my thoughts and deal with personal 'stuff' before being available, I was invited to ring in when that might be ... which I did.

About an hour later came a call from one of the 'new' staff there.  He began with an apology for disturbing me on a day when I was clearly not working. My protest that I was indeed working, and had phoned in as available, was met by a passing comment about 'there's nothing in your file,' and he went on to ask the query that had prompted the call.  I had some papers with me that I'd intended to deliver to the office on Monday afternoon, and now took them there, since there seemed to be no work coming my way.  As I handed them over, I enquired about that comment 'nothing in my file', and was shown a blank square on the controller's screen, where any jobs that I'd done that day would have appeared.  Since I'd spent virtually all day driving home from Scotland, it was empty.  It's an indicator that there's a whole new language out there that I and others will have to assimilate in the coming months!

The week then unfolded quite normally.  Yesterday morning I was given a job to Holbeach, and as I drew near, I decided to call the nearest office to see if they might have something for me to run onto once I'd delivered.  I was told they hadn't.  Not to worry, I thought, nothing ventured ...   I'd not gone more than a couple of miles on my homeward journey when a job appeared on my screen, to collect from a hospital in Boston for a destination in Skegness.  It seemed simple, but rarely have I been so wrong in my assessment.  I won't bore you with the detailed steps of my dealing with one problem after another, but a simple summary will suffice.

I thought I was collecting from the hospital - I wasn't; I was supposed to be meeting a delivery driver from a medical firm, who was also delivering there. I thought the job had come from the local office whom I had called earlier - it hadn't; it had come from another office, miles away, who'd spotted me in the right location. It transpired that this delivery was to a leisure park for a holidaymaker who wasn't going to arrive until today.  Once again, driver support was excellent, as I waited for about an hour and a half while the details of this circumstance slowly unfolded, drip by agonising drip. Meanwhile, I was parked in the middle of a car park that was getting busier by the minute, and began to be of concern to the security guard, who had to come and ask me to move on a couple of occasions.  At last, agreement was achieved, whereby the goods were lodged with the reception staff, who were none too pleased that no one had had the courtesy to forewarn them of the circumstances surrounding this particular guest and his essential needs.

I was home by tea time, calm, satisfied ... and a whole lot wiser!  What revelations will next week bring?