Mar�a had her second dose of interview this morning, at seven a.m. She was more asleep than awake when I went to drop her off, and so was I, to be honest. I was mumbling slurrily to her that the stacker she gave me yesterday (caffeine pill, for those that don't know my home-town slang - fo' shizzle my wizzle!) didn't work for shit on me. All it did was make me hungry. As we pull up to the warehouse I can already hear the belts running, people moving, music blaring, engines running... and I'm up. Distrurbed starts to play in some dark recess of my mind, and I am suddenly awake, I sit up in the car, alert. And then I'm bouncing past the entrance gate into the warehouse, Mar�a half-trotting to keep up with me. "Shit, fuck sleep, this is my stacker right here, babe!" I hear myself croak with a little spring in my step. I feel as if my soles are made of cork and spring. "Put me to load right now!" Mar�a does nothing but stare at me slightly bewildered through her sleep.

And I can't help it. Really, I can't. This all reminds me something about some psychologist and his drooling study with bells and dogs and meat, but everything's already starting to fade as sleep comes to claim me again. I'm away from my adrenaline rush, my drug, my beloved rinky-dinky-ass warehouse, and so my heart's already started to slow down again and my shoulders sag.

Before going inside past the gates, out there in my car, I felt an overwhelming love for my job that I've never felt before. I mean, I've always known my job kicks ass, I'd just never realized how much, y'know? And I got all misty and sentimental all of a sudden, or maybe it was because my body was still half asleep (despite the momentary rush I got from being at work, I'm still not a morning person). I looked out the window of my car and murmured: "You know, I really just love my job."

I could feel Mar�a looking at me. "I know," she said mildly.

"No, but... seriously." I turned to look at her staight in the eye. "I love what I do. And my only advice to you is this: wherever they put you in this warehouse, whether it be Clerical, or FDC, or even the Unload... love what you do. Don't be in this just for the money, or the benefits. Love your job. If, after a while, you're here and you see you don't like what you do, my recomendation is you get out after the year."

"Leave?"

"Yes, leave. I've seen many people work here, that don't like their job, and they just ruin it for the rest of us. The reason Joe Garza is such an upbeat guy despite the fact he only gets about two hours of sleep every night is because he loves his job. He's crazy, he loves this shit! He likes going from warehouse to warehouse, living out of his car, meeting new people, getting to know them and giving them that chance to become part of UPS. It's what thrills him, and that's what makes him so damn good. It's the same with Ed. Ed Turner is the coolest manager I've ever come accross, and that's because he loves his job too. He has a blast here, and wherever he goes. Y'know... he actually likes the monkey suit!"

I got a laugh out of Mar�a for that one. She gets the giggles everytime she sees a UPS driver or someone from Customer Counter wearing their brown UPS work suit ever since I told her a few days back that everyone at the warehouse fondly (and some not-so fondly) call it the Monkey Suit, because it's brown, and makes you look like one.

What was my point here?

Oh, yeah.

So we walk in at last, and I can't find Joe. I finally peek into the Post Card room and spot him, in his nice expensive Italian-looking business suit (no coat!), bent over three large boxes that come up to his waist. He grunts softly and flips them over (labels up!), then arranges them nicely up against the wall and out of the way. There's dust on his tie when he straightens up. It looks good on him, I dare say. Very "al natural." He sees me through the window and grins. That's when I notice it, somehow. There were no visible bags under his eyes and the sparkle in his eye was unmistakable (can you say, "Expresso"?), but... I don't know. He just looked tired, and it hit me for the first time that this guy's got his not-so-good days at UPS, just like I do. I dunno, it made me think of his wife. He must really miss her. I remember him telling me once, almost a year ago, when I was in that same spot where Mar�a is now, how he married his highschool sweetheart. When he speaks of her, his whole face lights up even more (if that's even possible). This is the sweet young teenager he probably drooled over secretly for some time in class when he still had acne on his face, the girl of his dreams that he eventually took to his Prom, to the Military Ball, and all other dances thereafter. I can see he still loves her, and seeing him there, with that coffee-energized smile on his face, I really wished his vacation's coming up soon, so the two can go dancing somewhere.

Am I being a sentimental fuck or what? Meh, buzz off. I'm blaming it on the early hour.

Speaking of coffee, I need some if I wanna stay awake. Which I don't, not really. I sip from my lemon/orangeade instead. God, I need to go to sleep.