J to the J

A couple weeks ago I was walking in downtown Minneapolis with a friend, Josh, who shall remain nameless, when I told him to follow me. I headed down an alley tucked between a Radisson Hotel and a restaurant. Of course, Josh knows me well enough to question my every move, which he did then, but I just said, "Follow me. Pay attention to what you see."

We walked down the alley, it's about 50 yards long, then turned the corner, where there is a roughly 50x60-feet loading dock a 90-degree turn from the alley. It isn't really a loading dock, though it serves that purpose. It's really just a big covered slab of concrete. It's where my first-ever FedEx stop was. From there, I delivered to the 45 S 7th St office tower and to the Radisson. Hotels, by the way, suck to deliver to, because people think it's really important to ship as much heavy and big crap as possible to join them during their hotel stay. Love your courier, please don't be that person.

Anyway, I explained to Josh what we were doing in this alley, and for the record yes it smells like pee. "The thing of it is, Josh, is that this is where my first FedEx stop was," I said.

Now, a 50x60 area may seem like plenty of room to maneuver a FedEx truck, but really, when you're a rookie, the hotel is in the midst of renovation and there are literally hundreds of mattresses stacked everywhere--plus there are like five extra huge dumpsters sitting around--maneuvering that truck within sucked. Not to mention, there are always other trucks there, which caused problems I won't even get into, because I'm sure you have enough problems to ponder right now.

Anyway, you basically pull into the alley forward from 7th Street, drive down it to the dumpster, back up at the 90-degree turn, to the loading dock. There was so much stuff in the area, though, that it wasn't that easy. A one-point turn ended up being a three- or four-point turn. To complicate matters, this area is where the smokers congregate, and of course the fact someone is trying to maneuver a big truck in such a cluster-f*ck of an area gives them reason to celebrate--they get to concentrate on you rather than the fact they are standing in a pee-smelling, dirty loading dock to smoke.

Eyes are watching.

Fortunately, I had Joe. Joe is a hilarious man who trained me on-road for the first three days on my route, route 24 (at this time, route 24 out of the MIC station of FedEx covered 35 S 7th, 45 S 7th, 800 Lasalle, and Dayton's--though I think it was already Marshall Field's by that time, though we called it Dayton's, always Dayton's. Two things about Joe: He always has a pick sticking out of his 'fro, and he had the uncanny ability to disappear, vanish, when you need him most. The good thing about Joe is that for the first day or two, he did the driving, if not all of it at least the parts where we had to navigate stinky, tight alleys and loading docks. For at least three days, Joe was my best friend.

I don't remember what Josh's reaction to the visual I provided him was, probably because I wasn't paying attention, but all I could think when I looked around at my defeated challenge was, "Ha. What a piece of cake. I could navigate this now blindfolded."

I might take-out a smoker in the process, but hey, at least then the glaring eyes would be reduced by two.