So the day before Thanksgiving, I held a job with UPS, but it was short-lived. I’d left work with a package in my car that I needed to return to a company via UPS. But we didn’t have any deliveries at the office, so I still had it with me.
Now I didn’t want to keep the box for the next four more days, as the return credit included a window of time and put me too close to the cutoff.
So I saw a UPS truck parked up the road and a coworker called me to let me know she saw it, too. So I pulled over to the side of the road, hopped out of my car, and jogged across the street to the truck.
The driver agreed to take my package from me. Oh, but wait, he had one for me, too.
I grinned. “You have a gift for me?”
He said yes, and then he asked if our office closed early because he also had a box for that address. So he scanned the two items since I told him I’d take the one for our office too, and drop it off.
The other boy riding with him, his helper, carried the big office-delivery box to the backseat of my car. I drove back to the office.
As I looked down at the name on the package inside my office lobby, in case I should text someone—he or she might need the box right away. Well, when I read the label, I noticed the name didn’t match any of our staff.
It’s a rather large box, and it took both hands to lift it, but I hurried back to my car. I jumped into my seat, thinking the UPS driver couldn’t be too far from me.
I turned a corner and saw the brown truck, but then it rushes into the intersection, turning right, heading out of town.
I stopped in a parking lot at the next corner, looking at the address once more—contemplating the idea of making the delivery myself. I’m a mere two minutes from ridding myself of the package.
So that’s when it happened. I became a UPS driver. After all, what if that person expected the box for Thanksgiving? What if the item inside was valuable, and I had it in my back seat?
So I parked in front of the house, carrying the box to the porch, ringing the doorbell. I walked off, but I worried the box might get stolen and I’d be the last who had it with her. So I rushed back to the door.
I waited, ringing the bell again and the door opened and a lady who glanced at my blue car asked, “Are you with UPS?”
To dispel her look of doubt, I shook my head, only to nod, which added more confusion to our mix. “No, it seems I received your box at my office. We have the same three digits, just a different street.”
“Oh, okay.” She looked around, then back at me.
I shared more details. “I had stopped the UPS driver downtown, and he gave me the wrong box. I didn’t read the label until I went back to the office. So here’s your package.”
The lady thanked me, carrying her box inside. That’s when I remembered I had carried my package inside my office earlier and left it on my desk—since I planned to open it.
So you can say my job with UPS lasted for about fifteen minutes. And I can’t even keep up with my own things. Besides, blue isn’t the color for delivery trucks. But if you need packages delivered for Christmas, and want to buy me a new smokey, brown delivery-car—then I’m your gal!
This is the day the Lord has made, let us rejoice and be glad in it (Psalm 118:24).