when i was a UPS man 1986-1990 i was somebody in my brown pants and shirt sitting high in the driver’s seat steering my monster of a truck one- handed while easily shifting gears with the other we maneuvered through Anaheim traffic a modern-day vaquero and his horse driving cattle the two of us in sync anticipating the ebb and flow of the herd on those summer days when the back of the truck turned into an oven my sweat left streaks of crusty white salt on my work shirt the customers always had a cold drink waiting for me knowing i couldn’t afford to drag ass or slow down the workday was just me and my truck making our deliveries stop and go stop and go each package an important one each business eagerly awaiting my knock on their back door or a receptionist with glossy lips looking up and smiling just for me when i walked into her lobby carrying the anticipated Next Day Air envelope during the Christmas season i delivered the boxes of chocolates and nuts sausages and cheese the gifts from all over the country finding the way to the doorsteps of the homes on my delivery route while the colored lights strung across each house flickered on and off and the trees stood in the windows weighed down with an array of shiny ornaments a flashlight helped me read addresses in the dark while i ran from my truck to their front door then back trying to finish the shift by 8 pm 1991-1994 one hernia repair later plus two bouts with pneumonia and now laid up with a bad back weekly computer reports informed the bosses i wasn’t working hard enough fast enough to suit them their verbal warnings turned into written warnings my shop steward pulled me aside and told me to watch my back the doctor knew who was paying his bills and treated me accordingly the day he offered me a choice i knew the score he could sign me off as okay for returning to work no matter how my back felt or he could classify me unfit for the job he stepped out so i could mull it over and think about the great pay and benefits that were on the line but i thought of the old guys a few years from retirement trying to hold on and not break down a fishing boat and ice chest of cold beer almost within reach the look on their faces at the end of the long day as they sat down on the wooden bench in the locker room and rubbed their knees for a long time groans slipped through clenched teeth as they stood up and shuffled out of the building a week later i turned in my work shirts and pants cleaned out my locker signed the necessary forms said my goodbyes no one noticed
About the Author: Richard Vargas earned his B.A. at Cal State University, Long Beach, where he studied under Gerald Locklin. He edited/published five issues of The Tequila Review, 1978-1980, and twelve issues of The Mas Tequila Review from 2010-2015. Vargas received his MFA in Creative Writing from the University of New Mexico, 2010. Published collections: McLife, 2005; American Jesus, 2007; Guernica, revisited, 2014; How A Civilization Begins, Mouthfeel Press, 2022, and a fifth book to be published in 2023. He currently resides in Wisconsin, near the lake where Otis Redding’s plane crashed.
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Image Credit: Gordon Parks “Untitled Photo” (1943) Public domain image courtesy of the Library of Congress
As It Ought To Be 