And more unfortunate incidents of an Immigrant labourer
My latest stint in the world of honest employment was "bicycle mail man". Finally, a job that doesn't require a 2nd sentence to explain what it is.
Girl: "So what do you do?"
Man: "I'm a sales analyst executive sub-prefecture of the delta department 2nd in Chief."
Of course, in the busy month of December, the postal service needs extra men on the ground. You may remember that I applied for a postal-sorting job for the month of December. I never gave a re-cap of how that went. I think I feel a flash-back coming on... ming on...ingon...ngon.. on. on...
I got on an unmarked bus, and the bus led me and 5 other hopefuls to an undisclosed location. Wow. The post centre was enormous. How could this go undetected for so long? We infiltrated security, and the receptionist told us to take an elevator. I could feel the group-psychology working here. We were all huddled together like a school of nervous fish, getting into a tiny room, in a building where noone knows we are. The elevator opened, and we walked down the most disorienting set of hallways I have ever seen. I half expected to see people walking on the ceiling.
We came out into a giant room filled with hundreds of computers. A small corner of the room was lit, and there were 30 people autistically tapping away on the keyboards. Noone noticed us there, apart from two old ladies. They were the examiners. The idea was this: we had to take a series of tests of postal sorting, and if we were fast enough, we would have the most boring job for an entire month.
The test was this: A scanned picture of a letter would appear on the screen, and you had to type the post-code and house number. Then you press enter, and the next letter would appear. I had practiced a little at home with a CD, so the first 5 minute test was okay. The next test was 18 minutes, and you could only make four mistakes. This is rather difficult, as many letters are written by hand. (Or, judging by how messily they are written, by feet.) I failed this test four times. It's like playing a computer game, and to open the next level, you have to get a certain time. Only, this was the crappiest computer game ever, which wasn't even fun in the first place. I took a break, and a coffee, and amped myself up. Success! I passed with less than 10 seconds to spare. That was exciting, but not in a good way. I started to understand the true meaning of "going postal".
The next 2 tests were easy, and soon I was up against the big, bad final test. You have to scan 200 letters in 11 minutes, with no more than 2 mistakes. You know when you are playing a computer game, and reach a boss who is impossible to beat? It was impossible. Just impossible. I wasn't upset or annoyed anymore, because hopelessness had won. It was 5pm, and the building was closing. I had lost.
I could come back to challenge the boss again, but I knew already that I couldn't ever beat him. I went home, nursing a sore typing wrist.
And I never went back again... Until this week for my stint as mail man. Well, it was a different location, and this one was on the map. I was supposed to be there at midday. It took a long 45 minute bike-ride to get there. Then I was told to wait for my partner to have lunch. I could join him, and he'd show me the ropes. He ate lunch for 40 minutes. Something tells me that people get paid an hourly rate here...
So I joined him, and he showed me what to do. There were 3 steps:
1. Hold letter in hands.
2. Put letter into the letterbox or door-slot
3. go to the next house and repeats steps 1-3
Because it was my first day, he shouldered most of the responsibility. At 1:10, 40 minutes later, we arrived back at the mail centre. The team captain looked at me.
"I'm sorry, we are finished today... You started at 11, right? Okay.. [He looks at the clock]. It's 1:30." And with that, he signed my work slip for 2 1/2 hours. That half makes up for my flashback story.
I had to go back a few days later. This time I joined a different guy. These guys are definitely getting paid by the hour. This postal route was much longer, through a very pretty part of Rotterdam. We biked past a large pond, some well-maintained windmills, charming streets, and so many posh houses. My partner kind of explained the nuances of the job (You should check each letter for the house number...), but mostly I was there to chat to him. He did the entire route by himself. In the entire 3 hours of work, I delivered exactly one letter.
The next day was christmas eve. I showed up at 10 and was told that I had to join the same guy again, on the same route. Okay... This "work" was starting to feel rather suspicious. Still, I went along without complaining... Until... DUM DUM DUM...
I had a flat tyre. Shit. It was a Christmas Miracle! I had no choice but to walk back. I walked back past the same houses, past the windmills, the charming streets. I walked for 45 minutes back to the headquarters. I told the team captain I had a flat tyre. His eye twinkled, and he said: "Do you think you can do a postal route on your own?"
I modestly said that I felt capable of putting letters into slots. So I borrowed a bike, put a bag full of mail on it, and biked away. It was nice weather, and entertaining work. It is perfect for me: I am active, I don't need to be able to write Dutch, and I don't look foreign. I mean, I know it's not fair, but I'm sure the owners of the houses would rather see me walking though their expensive neighbourhoods, than Achmed. I'm just saying. I did 2 routes like this, working a solid, honest 5 hour day. A Christmas Miracle indeed!
My lasting memory from the day was when I asked a lady which house was number 90. She asked me, "Are you the mail man?"
Yes, yes I am.
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