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Tag Archives: Work

Working tales…

21 Monday Apr 2025

Posted by Steve Mayne in Opinion

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computers, Fails, technology, UK, Work, writing

Having penned a very long-winded story about the UK Government’s distaste for window envelopes last time, I thought I might jot down a few other, largely silly, experiences I had in my thirty-four years of Government employ.

I joined in 1977 as a clerk, taking myself off to the big city (London) to push bits of paper around for the Ministry of Defence (MoD). Now this won’t be a story to match Pete Hesgeth’s security breaches in the US DoD, because although I had worked in some sensitive areas occasionally, most of my time at the MoD I spent pushing bits of innocuous paper around, or pressing buttons on computers, that were as far removed from Government secrets as you could get. Anyway, I have signed the Official Secrets Act, a Government NDA, so it’ll be all very bland.

In the early 1990s, I was working on a computer system that was networked around the UK’s Royal Navy holdings, including some of their ships. It was convenient to put the land-based nodes for this system in underground bunkers, mostly to protect against an electromagnetic pulse (EMP), deliberate or otherwise, and it was to one of these holes in the ground in Scotland that we were sent to install a software upgrade. If I tell you we were using reel-to-reel tapes for the magnetic media, you get an idea that this was not a fancy, James Bond type computer, but an old, old system.

Similar, but newer…

The bunker at this site was a WWII construction, quite deep and a veritable rabbit warren of little passages and low-ceilinged rooms. The computer was in a small space, and with extra people working in there, the cooling system began to struggle a bit. Consequently, once we’d mounted the tapes and set the update running, my coworkers and I retired to our beds on the surface for the night.

Oh my! One of the systems we were working on, although not the actual one of course.

At 1am we were paged because the update wasn’t working well and the temperature and humidity in the computer room was causing concern. When we arrived to see what was happening, there was an HVAC guy already there, with his young sidekick. We checked the update, it needed restarting, and just as we had the tapes whirring again, the HVAC guy said he wasn’t happy with the temperature. He asked his sidekick to power-off the cooler so he could check things out, and all of a sudden all the power went off. The computer, complete with updates running, stopped, and the lights went out. We stood in total darkness, in complete silence, for about fifteen seconds before the emergency lights kicked and we wondered what on earth we were going to do. The HVAC guy meanwhile was apoplectic, in a serious rage, because it turned out that his sidekick had hit the emergency power kill switch for the entire computer area rather than the switch for the cooler. What it meant for him was another hour while he reset his cooling system, which was another hour away from his lovely warm bed.

We knew we were in for a long night, but fortunately the power was restored quickly, the cooler ran up smoothly and we were able to get the update restarted for the third time that night.

One of our number stayed while the update ran this time, but the rest of us went back to bed. It was with some trepidation that we went back underground at 8am, but our night watchman was perfectly happy because the update worked. He was even happier because some nice sailors that worked there had found him a nice bacon sandwich and a cup of coffee.

I love a happy ending.

As a postscript, I discovered that the Scottish underground bunker that we’d spent part of night working in had been decommissioned in the early 2000s. Not only that, it had been filled in, and there is now a bunch of new houses sat atop it. I wonder if the owners of the houses know what was once beneath their feet?

Trump Relief

15 Tuesday Apr 2025

Posted by Steve Mayne in Opinion

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blog, Brown Envelope, Government, Jobsworth, Money, Work, writing

I was trying to think of something to write about that didn’t involve the second coming of President Donald Trump. When you live in Canada and have a left of centre view of things, everything Trump says and does is wrong; Fifty-first State, tariffs, rule of law, disappearing people, and all the rest, it dominates every day life. But then I received a Government (of Canada) brown envelope in the mail, and that set me thinking about my jobs in the Government (of the United Kingdom).

What news was contained in my brown envelope today wasn’t good, I’ve been dumped out of the Seniors Dental Plan because our family income is too high to qualify, but I can live with that because, well, I’m socially minded and understand that we can afford dental treatment without Government help. Let someone else less fortunate benefit instead. But I digress.

The envelope, as you can see, is a lovely “half-letter” size and has a Government QR code for the postage, and not one but two nice little windows so that the address and reference can be read without having to write anything on the envelope itself. When I worked in Government, we had windowed envelopes, but just the single window variety, and they were not widely used as they were expensive to buy, comparatively speaking. It used to be that all outgoing letters were in windowed envelopes, but Margaret Thatcher took up office as Prime Minister and put paid to all that, so we were then in the business of hand writing addresses on envelopes, at least at the level of output most of us achieved when issuing letters. But then I moved jobs within the Government.

My new job involved running an office that issued around seventy-thousand cheques a year, related to expenses incurred by a national subset of the Government called the Royal Observer Corps. These were spare time people, engaged in unpaid work for the good of the nation, but they were entitled to out-of-pocket expenses. While all Government workers were paid directly to their bank accounts, even in 1985, the Royal Observer Corps folks were still getting cheques, posted to their homes, on a quarterly basis. We had a tabulating machine, and a machine to print the cheques, we even had a fancy machine that put the cheques in the envelopes, albeit that you had to feed the cheques into the machine one at a time. Of course, given that the recipient’s cheque had their name and address on it, we used a window envelope to avoid having to type or write an address on seventy thousand envelopes.

In those days, Government stationery came from Her Majesty’s Stationery Office (HMSO). They held the money and the stock, all we did was order what we needed. The dreaded shadow of Thatcher loomed up quite quickly when HMSO arbitrarily changed the dimensions of the envelopes we used, “to save money”. The new envelopes, though, didn’t fit the cheques, and the window didn’t line up. That started a big kerfuffle when I had to get into an argument with HMSO in order to convince them that it was cheaper to supply the right envelopes than it was to retool our entire operation with new tabulators and envelope machines, just to fit their stationery. Fortunately we had sufficient of the old stock to weather the protracted argument, and HMSO did relent and start us back with the original sized envelopes eventually.

But things took a odder turn with further cost-cutting edicts from Thatcher. I ordered the requisite three months supply of envelopes, only to be told I could only have half the amount. I politely told HMSO that I couldn’t send only half the cheques out, but they were not to be moved. When I pointed out that each cheque had to go in an individual envelope (it was the law) and there was absolutely no room for economy, I was told that the HMSO budget couldn’t stand the use of expensive envelopes. To this day I can’t get my head around being told it was my problem that I could only have thirty-five thousand envelopes to send out seventy thousand cheques. Talk about “jobsworth”.

It took desperate measures to finally resolve the issue. I threatened to misappropriate money from our organisation’s operational budget and buy our own envelopes, and it was only that and the thought that I might usurp the authority of HMSO that finally made them see sense. Oh, and the very real risk that the volunteers who weren’t going to get their expenses cheque may very well walk off the job, all for the want of an envelope.

I’m glad to see, then, that the Government of Canada is happy to buy proper envelopes. They don’t yet trust to e-mail for these important communications, but as a tax payer and former envelope stuffer I’m happy to contribute to the purchase of nice envelopes.

As a postscript, not too long after the Great Window Envelope Scandal, we moved to a computerised expenses payment system where the recipients could opt to have direct payment to their bank accounts. It was a slow take up initially, until people worked out that their friends were getting their expenses two weeks before those still waiting on cheques. When I left that job, we were only issuing about twelve thousand cheques a year, so I guess someone at HMSO was happy about not having to buy so many windowed envelopes. What a happy ending.

A Bit Of An Update on Retirement

21 Sunday Jul 2024

Posted by Steve Mayne in Opinion

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blog, Chores, Do Nothing, guilt, Jobs, life, mental-health, Peace, Retirement, Work, writing

Two full years of proper retirement behind me, so it’s time for an update.

Firstly, do I miss work? No, I don’t miss work. I don’t miss the routine of it, and don’t miss the stress of it, real or imagined. To not have that five day a week commitment, to not have to go and do someone else’s bidding, latterly for very meagre compensation, is blissful, it really is.

But, more than forty years of being part of that culture has been very difficult to move away from at times, and there are moments, more than I’d like, where I start to feel a certain guilt that I’m not fully occupied during a work day. It’s more habit, more trying to shed an ingrained routine, than anything else, but I’m working on it.

I haven’t set my alarm clock, bar the occasional day, since retiring, and that’s very freeing. I wake early most days, but can enjoy the feeling of knowing that my day is my own. Every day, too, not just the weekend. In these summer months I get into my walking sessions, and use that first waking hour of my day to pound the pavements hereabouts. It gets warm in this part of the world so the early start is beneficial, but it is so nice to utilize that early time to good effect, not just to get some exercise, but to listen to an audiobook as I walk, which is about as close to multi-tasking as you can genuinely get.

I still don’t get done as much as I’d like during the day. There’s always the necessary, cleaning, laundry, house maintenance and the like, that tends to get put to the bottom of the list because the tasks are boring and to an extent, pointless. Then there are the optional things like the garden, online time (the biggest consumer of my efforts in day), and finally the projects, usually home related, that I am definitely “going to get around to”, eventually. Overarching all that is my innate laziness and the fact that really I don’t want to be “doing stuff” the whole time because sometimes, and this may be the key to retirement, I don’t want to do anything at all. That’s the conundrum that exists when you’re still trying to divest yourself of the habit of work.

I read a piece in the New York Times recently that said maybe retirees should just do nothing, at least for a portion of their day. They should do it and attach as much importance to the down time as they do to the positive tasks in their lives. I’m beginning to think that the author of the piece was right, albeit that most retirees I’m sure are also locked in this personal debate about thinking that they should be doing something, rather than nothing.

I think that this doing nothing, or the acceptance of the principle, should be my task for the next year. Sure there are things I have to do, things I want to do, and things I ought to do, but doing nothing should be right up there at the top of the list, and have as much guilt attached to it as doing the laundry, or cleaning the house; that is no guilt at all!

The garden is work, but the enjoyment of it is guilt-free do nothing time.

Highways and Byways

13 Friday Oct 2023

Posted by Steve Mayne in Opinion

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Driving, School Bus, Work

Or “You Want Me To Drive This Bus Where?”

When I rebooted this blog, I promised some school bus tales, so here goes.

Training to drive the bus wasn’t too difficult, despite the obvious differences between it and a car. Off-road training and on-road training, as well as many hours in the classroom, had me set up to pass the Ontario B Class licence tests without too many issues. Of course, all that training really didn’t prepare me for the bulk of the challenges to come. There were students to consider, schools, and the thousands of little roads in and around the school district, most of which I’d never heard of.

On my first day driving a bus route, I did have the benefit of an experienced driver come with me. It was a dark and very cold January morning that I headed out to Townline Road, a gravel track out towards Lake St. Clair. I had my map (not easy to read in the dark), but I had never been this far west of the City, and had hardly driven a bus in the dark at all, so it was all very challenging. Add to the mix that my fingers were frozen (buy some decent gloves, I thought) and the fact that I was pretty nervous, and it all added up to a tough start. I do still remember picking up my first student, though, and she was still smiling when we got to school so I must have been doing something right.

The next day I was on my own, and my route timings were terrible. Being new, I did everything slowly, and ended being late to school for the first run, then late for the second run’s start, and even later to that school. In the afternoon, the drivers waiting at my second run school were radioing to find out where I was, so late was I. It wasn’t that I got lost or anything, but until you get into the routine of it, and get to know your route, it all seems to take way too long.

With the added distraction of the students, mostly well behaved I will admit, I let some of that training I worked so hard at, go by the board, and worked on speeding up some of the processes, like loading and unloading. It was a case of concentrate on a few things then, when you’ve mastered them, work on a few of the other things. It took me a while to remember to check that tail swing on the corners, because I was so busy with the other stuff.

But it started to come together. I bought some better gloves, a light for my maps, and even some variable-focus lens glasses as reading the maps wearing my fixed focus glasses was difficult. I also started to find out about the locale. I had no idea just how far the school district extended, and for the longest time I was driving out on country roads that I really hadn’t known existed. Things were not helped by the fact that I couldn’t learn a specific route because as a new boy, I was put onto covering other people’s runs, so I had new maps and new places to drive all the time. Fortunately, map reading, and finding my way around, comes easily to me, so it wasn’t too long before a run out to Duart, or to Florence (relatively remote farming communities, both), were becoming a lot easier. Indeed, the Dispatcher had me doing different routes almost daily as I was both effective at covering them, and I was keen to learn and to take them on.

The first few weeks were also complicated by the Canadian winter, with ice and snow to deal with, and such cold that I hadn’t experienced before. The buses were heated, of course, but the for the first twenty-five minutes or so, it was like driving a freezer. More than once I had to stop the bus to hack ice off the windows, the mirrors and even the Stop sign. That said, as my abilities and knowledge improved, so did the weather, and by June and the summer vacation, I had the school district down, my route timings were where they should be and I had never been lost, nor had even the slightest of collisions, which wasn’t too shabby for a newcomer. Dealing with the students was another issue, though, and I tended to leave them to their own devices, especially as I had different routes most days. The little ones were noisy, the middle schoolers at the French language schools were difficult (not because they spoke French, they didn’t while they were on the bus, but it was more to do with a perceived entitlement, I think), and it took me a lot longer to get to grips with having to cope with kids running around the bus, and to drive the darned thing at the same time. I quickly came to appreciate the high school students as generally, if left alone, they just kept themselves to themselves.

I had a couple of wobbles when driving, at least early on. Getting called in to work very early (a consequence of my being overly helpful, I think) on a dark and snowy morning and having to drive out to Ridgetown in an old and rickety bus, had me questioning why I was doing this, because the pay was definitely not stellar given the effort required. A couple of times when students were being very difficult also had me thinking that it wasn’t worth the hassle, at least given the poor compensation. Then on other days, particularly when the mornings were lighter and the weather was warmer, it did seem like a pretty good job. Like the time I had some high schoolers from Wallaceburg laughing like drains and leading me on a circuitous round around Sombra, trading on my unfamiliarity with the place, having me drop them at their homes rather than their actual stops, all because I was struggling with the map. You lose some, you win some.

Even in those early days, though, I was getting the warning signs that the company I was working for were operating on a shoe string. Not that the buses were dangerous, or too many operational corners were being cut, but there was definite lack of investment, in equipment and drivers, that didn’t bode well for the future.

That’s for another day, though.

Training

29 Friday Sep 2023

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Driving, School Bus, Training, Work

Or “This Is Easier Than I Thought”

Even before I’d started in my full-time job at the bus company, I had embarked on the process to become a Driver-Trainer. Certainly it was an opportunity to work some more hours, but it was also an intense and satisfying job.

In Ontario, the testing of commercial vehicle drivers has been devolved, mostly, to the commercial companies themselves. Given the correct qualifications, people like me employed by the bus company, were able to supervise training and execute written and road tests on behalf of the Ministry of Transportation. While you might think that there’s too much self-interest involved, that is we could just pass anyone and not bother with proper training, it was all very well run by the Ministry and we as testers and trainers were constantly monitored and assessed. Vehicle collision data involving new drivers was always scrutinized by the Ministry and were we to be cheating and not doing our jobs for drivers who crashed, we would surely have lost our place on the devolved licensing scheme.

There are lots of hoops that you have to jump through to become a tester, not least a week on a residential course, learning to teach others. Fail that and you’re simply not considered by the Ministry. But I passed, and was soon teaching others in the classroom, on the Skills Station (photo above), and out on the road (photo below).

Drivers were assessed daily and booted if they were not up to the required standard, although I only failed a handful, and always at the early stages of training, before they were allowed out on the road. Telling someone that they weren’t going to make it, we wouldn’t enter anyone for their tests if we didn’t think they’d pass, was tough and often involved tears – not mine I should add. One trainee I worked with wasn’t getting it, but I felt that she would, given time. I sent her home for a couple of days break from training, and we picked it up again in a much better place for her, and she passed her test comfortably in the end. Perseverance from both trainee and instructor can work sometimes. The last one I failed simply wasn’t getting some the basics, not even after I’d allowed double the amount of time allowed, and it’s interesting to note that it’s generally those that tell you up front what a great driver they are who don’t make the grade. I didn’t keep track of the number of new drivers I trained to a successful conclusion, but I did do twenty-two in six months one year.

There didn’t seem to be a specific type of person who did well, either. Two of the standout trainees were young women with minimal driving experience, who both caught on really quickly, and yet some of the “old and bold” people, mostly men, with decades of driving experience, were the ones most likely to fail. Indeed, a couple of the oldies who had previously held bus driver licenses were the hardest to train and to get through the test. There’s a rule in Ontario that if you are a school bus driver over sixty-five and you catch two or more Demerit points, in your or car or in a bus, then you have to be tested again by Ministry contractors. Despite spending countless hours training with a number of these fellows, I never got any of them a pass, so they all lost their bus licenses. I think it was a case of trying to teach old dogs new tricks, and none of them wanted to learn.

Mostly, though, it was hard work but good fun. I’ve trained with babies in car seats alongside their mothers, people into their seventies and driving bus for the first time, and lots of folk struggling to get work. All of them, though, once they’d mastered the tricks of the trade, were all really happy to be behind the wheel of the “Big Yellow”.

I’d like to have continued training without having to drive daily bus runs as well, but my employer was having none of it, and that is why I’m now fully retired.

School Bus Tales

28 Thursday Sep 2023

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Driving, School Bus, Work

Or “How Do You Drive One Of Those Things?”

I have a wealth of School Bus stories, but I’ll start with the basics, just how do you drive one of those things?

The simple answer is “quite easily”. They’re big, for sure, but pretty simple beasts and easily handled by anyone who has a mind to do it. Automatic gearboxes, power steering, hydraulic brakes with ABS all round, they’re really not any harder to drive than a car, but you do have to learn the tricks required to make the corners without riding the curbs, and to turn it around without nailing too many mailboxes. In fact in some ways they’re easier to handle than a regular car because you have seven very handy mirrors at your disposal that give you so much more visibility.

To get a licence, though, you do need some special training and that’s down to the fact that apart from the Police and the EMS, school bus drivers are the only people on the road who can stop traffic legally. Those red lights and the extending Stop sign are powerful tools and you really do have to learn to use them wisely. Your cargo is special, too, with up to seventy-two children on board, you have a huge responsibility, when they’re on board, and when they’re approaching or moving away from the bus. What a shame that the pay doesn’t reflect the training and levels of responsibility school bus drivers undertake.

The First Student (my employer) training program was thorough, and it had to tie in with the Ontario licensing programme, which is similarly demanding. Hours driving off-road, trying not to squash plastic cones, hours in the classroom, and hours on the road, before rigorous written and on-road tests to Ministry of Transportation standards. Despite the individual failings of some of the drivers after having attained their licence, you could put your kids on the bus knowing that every driver was trained to a very high standard.

Driving on the road becomes easier with practice, as does understanding how to drive a rigid vehicle nearly forty feet long round some very tight turns, and without clouting another vehicle with the dreaded tail swing, that is the amount the rear overhang of the bus can swing left or right behind you. While you’re driving, you’re also following a pre-set route, with pre-set pickup points, to a fairly tight schedule. Local knowledge helps, but when you start out, or you take on a new route, it can be tough to follow a route, and its stops, often in the dark and often in awful weather. When I started I was covering other drivers’ absences so I could do many different run in a week, and then it was all paper maps and a little light rigged so that you could see it on those dark early mornings. Now it’s an Android tablet PC with the routes downloaded and audibly read back to you as you drive, which is better for all concerned. Of course the down side of that was the driving data collected that was extremely good at catching you if you drove like a dork.

Having mastered all that, then there was the students. The truism that ten percent cause ninety percent of the problems was very true of children on the bus, and with a good bunch of kids you could spend uneventful hours driving around the lanes of the district, almost enjoying it. If you had a few difficult kids, then trying to drive, to navigate and to police the kids was a difficult task. That task was often underestimated by the schools’ administration, and by the School Boards, so working with little support was also not good. However, the ten/ninety rule meant that most times the runs were trouble free.

By the time I’d decided to retire, I could get a new route memorized in two days. I knew the area, the schools and quite a few of the kids, so it all became relatively easy. I had my fair share of incidents (for later posts, I think), but in my seven years driving, I never had a collision and had a completely clear driving record, and of that I was very proud.

More riveting bus stories to come, you lucky people, but I’ll leave you here with the thought that for all my moaning and complaining, I’d always be happy to put my kids, or grandkids, on the school bus.

Working For A Living

23 Saturday Sep 2023

Posted by Steve Mayne in Opinion

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Driving, School Bus, Work

Or “How To Drive A School Bus”

My successful job application was for the role of School Bus Driver. Twenty-five or so hours a week, on a split shift, bussing the students of Chatham-Kent to and from their schools. I’d never driven a commercial vehicle before, and obviously had never ridden in a North American yellow school bus. But how hard could it be? Training free, but unpaid, so not too bad.

I’d applied months before and heard nothing, but the manager of the local bus company, First Student, called me and asked if I was still interested, and if so, would I come in for interview? I didn’t need asking twice.

At the bus yard, I was interviewed by the Safety and Operations Manager who, having commented that I had filled the many forms in really quickly, gave me a cursory interview, checked my drivers’ licence and told me when I was going to start training! The regulatory stuff regarding the bus drivers’ licence was more tricky, especially was when I applied for the licence, I had to submit a medical and a drugs test. Safety first.

Training went well, on road and off road stuff, and a whole heap of classroom work. Training was undertaken by a couple of drivers, suitably qualified of course, who did that as well as drive bus runs morning and afternoon, so training hours were nicely in the middle of the day. As I remember, it was November and stupidly cold, but hey, this is Canada I guess.

Things ground to a halt, though, when the the licensing people referred my application to the Medical Review Board, on account of my having had a TIA a couple of years previously. Cutting a very long story short, the application was approved months later and in late January 2015 I passed my written and road tests and became an Ontario School Bus Driver.

There’s much to write about that job, which can wait until later. I drove regular bus runs for a year before being elevated to a full time job in the office as Safety Officer. I became a Driver-Trainer (suitably qualified) and worked in the “Wash Rack” cleaning buses for a while. All along, I drove bus routes when the need arose. The pay was lousy, the expectations too high for the compensation, but it was an education, an experience, and a job.

All of that said, though, I’m very happy to be retired now.

Work, It Came And It Went

21 Thursday Sep 2023

Posted by Steve Mayne in Opinion

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job applications, Resumes, Work

Or “What I Have Been Doing For The Past Nine Years”

Browsing a couple of my last 2014 posts, I see that I was in that purgatory known as job hunting. Masses of resumes and covering letters, and barely even an acknowledgment from local employers. Not a good place to be. But it did change.

My first semi-success was with Canada Post. I’d applied for a Letter Carrier job and was asked to undertake an aptitude test. That all went well, and I was called for an interview, and that went well, too. The final hurdle was a physical test, which involved walking up and down stairs and lugging heavy mail carrier bags around. That, too, went well. There was, though, a fairly rigorous period of training to go through which entailed driving to Windsor daily for a couple of weeks, to be taught the finer points of carrying letters. It’s actually quite complex, with all manner of money to be collected, forms to be filled and electronic gizmos to carry around. I also did a week at the sorting office in Chatham and went out delivering real mail, with a mentor. I was getting paid, too. The bit where I said it was a semi-success came when we had to do a sortation test at the end of the training. A one-off, pass or fail, test of speed and accuracy in sorting 120 letters. Despite being given a huge amount of practice time I failed, as did a number of my fellow trainees. I was crushed because I thought I had it in the (mail) bag, and what did sorting matter when the bulk of mail in Chatham arrived pre-sorted? Well it did matter, thanks to the Union contract. I was paid off by a sad looking man who told me that they had already earmarked a right-hand drive delivery vehicle to me because being British I’d know how to drive it. There’s a bit more to this, but I’ll press on with my next semi-success.

Semi-success number two was when I applied to be a “Custodian”, or caretaker, with the local school board. The money wasn’t great and the jobs were just emergency cover, but how hard would it be to operate a rotary polisher? I was asked to attend an interview, lectured about the limited nature of the job and sent on my way with a promise of a call so that I could attend again and do “a cleaning test”. For a job with poor pay and even poorer prospects I really didn’t think I needed to be doing tests, so I gently dropped that one. It was a bit harsh, too, because I’d applied for office work at the school board, my stock-in-trade, but never even had an acknowledgment.

I registered in a programme for older people looking for work, with the specific rider that I wouldn’t consider a job at the local Call Centre, a place that had a higher turnover of staff than players at Chelsea FC. I really did not need to work in the modern equivalent of a sweat shop. Lo and behold I had a call from the Call Centre asking me to come for interview, which was odd as I’d never applied for a post there. I asked how they had my name and number and it was, of course, through the older workers programme. Initially I agreed to an interview, but later called and cancelled, and the response I got was, to put it politely, frosty.

My full success was my long-forgotten application to drive a School Bus (training free, but unpaid). I will talk about that in a later post, but suffice it say that I did drive a school bus, and more, for seven years. I learned a lot, but perhaps the best lesson was to know when it was time to retire.

I promised a return to the Canada Post job, and this is it. In the cold February of 2015, I was driving my school bus down Indian Creek Road and saw my Letter Carrier mentor delivering mail in the snow and seriously sub-zero temperatures. I stopped to say hello and he looked up at me and asked if it was warm on the bus. I said it was, and he said “you have the better job”. Maybe failing the sortation test wasn’t as bad as I’d thought.

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