As the long winter break continues there are fewer and fewer things to do. I, a self-proclaimed master of piddling, even feel the need to bust out of this comotose state and raise my level of productivity. Enter UPS.

Towards the end of fall quarter the United Parcel Service scours the OU campus in search of college students who are looking for a job that requires the lifting of heavy boxes and pays 12 dollars an hour. Conveniently enough, UPS offers just such a position. After a round of hardhitting interviews that include such questions as: Have you ever committed a felony? Are you a legal US citizen? Do at least 3 of your 4 exterior limbs function properly?, the company takes down your uniform size, hastily trains you as if you were a WWII draftee, and sends your package-carrying ass out the door.

Once one arrives home for break and calls their local UPS center, they're told that they must come to pickup their custom fit uniform. The largest shipping company on the planet requires its employees to PICKUP their uniform....as opposed to just shipping them. Things are shaping up just fine here. It should also be noted that the UPS uniform for the temporary driver-helper is made from a revolutionary combination of polyester, plastic, and steel wool. The coat even puffs out enough to make the skinniest of its victims resemble the stay puft marshmallow man, yet fails to retain ANY body heat.

However, this is where the despair ends dear readers. As it turns out the job of a temporary driver helper is, quite frankly, fucking sweet.

Upon meeting my driver, Paul Stryker (Coolest. Name. Ever.), at the courthouse I was quickly briefed on his two girlfriends and how he must stay calm and collected while talking to them as both are on his route. At this point I have a shit-eating grin on my face. We jump in the truck and Paul proceeds to explain that he's going to do everything he can to get me as many hours as he can. He also insists that he'll be sure to point out to me where all the best looking women can be found on the route. At this point Paul Stryker has catapaulted to number 3 on my "Favorite Americans of All-Time" list, right behind "Hacksaw" Jim Duggan and the guy that sells OxyClean on TV.

As Paul and I drive from stop to stop in downtown Cambridge I'm told that Paul is one of UPS-St. Clairsville's quickest drivers and almost always finishes under his expected time. 10 minutes into the day I realize why this is so. When driving a UPS truck, Paul is, undoubtedly, above the law. We go up on sidewalks. We ignore no parking signs. We park in handicapped spots. We park ON handicapped people. We go the wrong way down one-way streets...in reverse. Nothing stops a UPS man from finding the shortest route to deliver the bounty of packages found in his possession.

Speaking of the packages themselves, a temporary driver helper soon learns one relevant truth: Most things are the fault of the pre-loader. The pre-loader is the person whose job it is to load all of the day's packages on the truck. This requires him to organize them in an efficient and orderly manner. On this particular day the truck appeared to be loaded by a pack of monkeys with tourettes. Packages were blanketing the ground and cargo hold navigation was nearly impossible. (Fuck you, pre-loader.) These circumstances inspired Paul to kick a chainsaw that was destined for Orme Hardware. (Fuck you, chainsaw.)

While going on our merry way, Paul tells tales of his time at WVU and I reveal my stories from Athens. I proceeded to tell him of the time after the Texas-Ohio St. game when I tried to drink my sorrows away and woke up underneath a truck behind Skippers. Paul then trumped me with the time he was chugging a beer in the back of a truck while going down the highway and fell backwards over the side. His legs were still in the truckbed and were being grasped by his buddies while Paul's head dangled helplessly beside the back tire and just above the pavement at 70 mph. Paul wins.

This UPS gig was indeed a find. However, it's "on-call" work and never guaranteed. This is a technicality that Tim Mosser jumped all over. So I now await my morning call from UPS in the grinding room at Variety Glass in south Cambridge. Variety Glass is considered by many to the minor league affiliate of Mosser Glass and is therefore a nice place for Pops to stick me as I perpetually offend him with my "freeloading, sleeping til 10am" lifestyle.

Beginning at 6 am, I start plugging away down at the plant. I'll attempt to reproduce a running diary for you.

6:00 am- Set up the grinding wheel for a glorious shift of grinding funnels, lids, and bell jars.

6:25 am- As I'm finishing up my 50th funnel of the day I wonder if anyone would notice or care if I were to begin screaming the Alphabet Song at the top of my lungs.

6:27 am- I finally summize that no, nobody would notice or care if I began to belt out the Alphabet Song.

6:45 am- Stare at clock for 748th time and wonder if it's really a quarter til 7 or if someone is turning it back and fucking with me.

6:50 am- Pull out cell phone and realize that nobody is, in fact, fucking with me.

7:20 am- Begin session of zoning out while doing work.

8:45 am- Awake from zone out session, realize all the day's glass funnels are grinded and have no idea how that happened.

8:50 am- Remind self that the grinding wheel is moving very fast and that it's not in my best interest to zone out while working on it with large pieces of glass. Begin bell jars.

10:00 am- Realize the bell jars AND lids are done. Also realize I've zoned out again and that one day I will lose a finger/eye. Come to terms with fact that I will one day lose a finger/eye, go to get ready for UPS.

This is my routine for the duration of winter break. I do find solace in the fact that there are only 33 more days til college starts again. I look forward to times when writing 2,500 words on my work schedule is not the highlight of my week. I also look forward to having all my digits this time in January, but I'm not holding my breath on that one.