Delivery Snippets

the brilliancy of having so many different jobs is realizing that there really isn't too much different about any of us. we all pound coffee, head where ever we're headed, and do our best not to feel awkward about what happens on the way-- with seldom success.

i've written out clips of being a tour guide, then the corporate snippets of my days as a credit card concierge, and one brief shoe snippet. so i figure there isn't much harm in including a little of what i see while running through the eyes of a print-shop employee.


every day i do a large amount of invoicing, phone-answering, and the general setup of any print job. but during a standard day, i also run deliveries 3-5 hours and circle the financial district, soma, or embarcadero on foot enough times to confidently say i could likely walk the perimeter of our city without resting.

for me, the deliveries are the more entertaining parts.


the law offices of boop-uh-loop

there were practically no decoration on the walls and i'm positive the office fica was a fake. it just stood there, looking a little too nonchalant about the stringy moss it was supposedly planted in. law offices are almost always a horrible place to find myself waiting-- there's practically never anything to look at.

but, just above the door handle of that boring office, was the one redeeming slice of personality: a very small, yellow, sticker. it had a fairly simple drawing of a monkey and some words.

if you can read this you are in range of my poo-flinging monkey.

the jewish community federation group association team center foundation

each time i've delivered their books, i've been scared. they won't let me in until i've buzzed the front door and thoroughly explained who i am and exactly what exists in my boxes. it's strange because i always call before i head over and they shouldn't be surprised to see me. especially not after the third delivery in one day.

inside, there is a gigantic metal detector that separates me from a bulletproof glass wall. beyond that shield, there are two guards with microphones standing and staring. usually, they make no attempt to ask me anything, and so i'm forced to stand there feeling strange. if i tell them what i've come for they'll look at me like i'm lying about something. sometimes it makes me feel like i am lying even though i'm not.

i want to tell them i'm jewish and that i would never pose as a print-shop worker just to bomb their headquarters. but i probably will just keep quiet and feel awkward instead.


the 345 california elevators

there was a business-lady smiling at me and i couldn't figure out why. i wondered if she had met me at one of the business networking meetings but decided not to ask because knowing would only make me feel rude for not remembering.

"i almost killed you," she said to me happily.

"what?"

"you don't remember?" she laughed, "earlier this morning i nearly ran you over with my car. i felt horrible! sorry!"

this was, perhaps, one of the strangest beginnings to an awkward conversation yet-- and we hadn't even boarded the elevator.

"i've been in a big rush all day," i half-laughed, "i didn't even notice."

"you and me both," she smiled, "but i really almost ran you over by accident. i'm so sorry about that!"

i wanted to tell her i had almost been killed three times this month, but that i had started taking vitamin d and was an IMMORTAL-- i wanted to let her know she had nothing to worry about.

"if i didn't notice, i'm sure it was more than 50% my own fault," i said instead.

we boarded the elevator together, and just before she could say whatever it was she wanted to say next, i realized i was on the wrong one.

"ah shoot," i said, "i'm trying to go up."

"this is going to the parking garage," she said, "i'm headed home."

"well damn, wrong elevator," i blushed as i jumped through the doors, "have a good one. drive safe!"

she said something as the doors shut, but i couldn't hear what it was.


the british consulate


i waited in the lobby after finally getting through their english security and convincing them i had no intention of robbing them of crisps. there was no one else in the lobby-- not even a receptionist. in fact, at the windowed desk where i would imagine a receptionist to be, there was a sign:

THERE IS NO RECEPTIONIST AT THE BRITISH CONSULATE. PLEASE FIND THE EXTENSION OF YOUR PARTY AND TELEPHONE THEM.

but when i went to take out my cell phone, i noticed another sign next to the first.

NO CELL PHONES ALLOWED IN THE BRITISH CONSULATE.

i was unsure if this was just dry english humor, or if they were being serious. but there was a complimentary phone attached to the glass wall where the receptionist should've been. i dialed my party and could hear her answer just behind the glass. she pretended like this was normal. but it was really awkward.