I'm #58 out of the 100 safest
Papa John's Pizza delivery drivers in the
entire world. I saw it on a list up at work yesterday, so it has to be true, right? With my year and a half's work, I've amassed a whopping 1300 hours of accident-free driving. The guy in the #1 position has 8200 hours.
8200 hours!
A year is only 8766 hours long. This dude has spent almost an entire, non-stop, no breaks, no snacks, no sleep year of his life delivering hot pizza goodness to the folk of some lucky township here in the great American midwest. Sorta like a prison sentence, only you get to serve it in your car.
It's time for me to find a new job...
Something where the money I take home does not depend upon the speed at which I move. Something that doesn't make my car smell like well-processed food-like material. Something where my life doesn't flash before my eyes every time some dipshit tries to make a very red light while I'm going through the very green one. Something that involves sitting on my bum behind a console of some sort.
It's not that I don't still enjoy driving. The solace is blissful. I get to think about whatever interesting things I choose to, in whatever depth I desire. I get the satisfaction of making 3500 pounds of steel go in whatever direction I wish, at whatever speed I wish. I can turn up my stereo, and listen to one of my many wicked mixtapes, or I can turn off the stereo, heater, and everything else, and listen to the soft brown noise of rain hitting my windshield. I also get to take home up to $70 in springy, green, tax-free cash at the end of the evening.
In many ways it's the perfect job, especially on a good night. I'm sure I'll miss it, but the threat of becoming an 8200 hours man looms too close for comfort.