On any given day, the office I work at might get two to three vendors stopping in to drop off product orders and goods for our branch. The FedEx guy, the Alterra Coffee dude, the Otis Spunkmeyer cookie man. In the winter, Luis the rug guy even picks up the soiled carpets every other week.
All these people – 100 percent of which are men, from my sample size – drive around southeast Wisconsin delivering and distributing goods for their company. They all may work for large corporations, but they drive a truck for eight to 12 hours a day, most of which is windshield time by themselves. No wonder they can’t stop talking when they see another human being.
Today the Otis Spunkmeyer man, Donnie, stopped in. He dropped off the cookies, and started talking about his company and the changes since their merger with a company in Sweden, and how banks aren’t what they used to be, and how he tried to buy a Lexus, and when he owned his liquor store a few years ago … I got half this guy’s life story in our 10 minute conversation (or lecture? I didn’t do much talking).
I can appreciate what they do, but I’ll take a cubicle in an office over a truck, any day.
