I Was a Teenage Milkman Part Three

I Was a Teenage Milkman

I Was a Teenage Milkman 2

In the first two parts of this story, I told you of the foolish decision of a well meaning man named Don at a dairy manufacturing and marketing company, to hire the nineteen year old me as a home and commercial delivery milkman.  I told of my first negative customer situation, and mentioned a couple of other incidents in order to give a representative picture of the somewhat less than stellar employee that I managed to be in that time.  As I mentioned then, I think that I’ve earned a place in that company’s Employee Hall of Shame.  In fact, as I prepare to write this last installment, it occurs to me that I may possibly have earned a place in the All-Companies Employee Hall of Shame in those few months, or at least an honorable mention for such.

There were a number of customer-specific situations that I won’t bother describing in detail.  There was a really unsavory situation involving a farmyard disagreement between myself and an out of control German Shepherd dog, with an empty milk crate swung in defensive fashion as the featured prop in the scene.  I’ll just note that, as the dog staggered to its feet and stumbled away, and the farmer came running from the tractor he’d just parked next to the barn, I once again saw and heard that purple-face/bug-eyed/raspy-voice thing that I’d witnessed with Don and a kitchen manager in recent weeks.  Whatever bug may have caused it must have been really common in that area.  In the brief pauses between the farmer’s incoherent screeches, I calmly informed him, in similar voice and volume so that he could hear me, that future deliveries would be left near the mailbox at the end of the driveway if the farmer or his wife were not in evidence to control the dog.  This turned out to be unnecessary, as they were one of those families that, coincidentally, decided to buy their milk and related products at the supermarket in town, shortly after the dog and crate incident.

Neither will I spend time detailing incidents such as dropping a fully loaded milk crate in such a way as to cause the corner of the crate to make a direct-hit on my big toe at the end of a long day in double-digit subzero temperatures.  Suffice it to say that, though I could barely feel it at the moment of impact, it later took a large infusion of carbonated and malted beverages to dull the pain as that toe warmed up. 

I won’t spend a lot of time on these, relatively minor sorts of incidents and accidents.  Rather, this part will touch on the focal point of the majority of problems, surprises, and failures of execution that plagued my tenure as a teenage milkman; the delivery truck.

I gave a full description of the truck in installment two, but I’ll briefly outline the major features here.  Picture a rectangular box with wheels at the four corners, two large, flat glass panels separated by a metal frame-post as windshield, a walk-in door on the passenger side, and entries to the refrigerated compartment and freezer compartment on the passenger side and rear end of the box.  When loaded with dairy and bakery, eggs, and other related products, the truck was massive and ponderous to maneuver, with the added advantage of being top heavy in the extreme to add to its delightful handling characteristics.  Top speed on a flat, smooth surface, was about fifty one and a fraction miles per hour.  That would be with the worst of Eastern Dakota winds following to aid the overmatched V8 engine.

As I mentioned in one of the first two parts, I often found myself driving the truck shortly after leaving a party or other late night social activity.  I must shamefully admit that hung-over could be reasonably sited as my condition on the better days that I gave to that job.  I discovered early on that ripping open a package of Colby cheese and tearing off chunks with your teeth could be an effective form of hangover relief, particularly when combined with chocolate milk consumed straight from a one-quart cardboard carton.  This remedy and eventual near-addiction may have been partially responsible for the trouble that I always had in getting my deliveries/inventory paperwork to balance properly at the end of each day.

One of those days was central to an early situation in which my relationship with the truck was the source of discomfort and tension between myself and my boss, Don.