Just For U(P)S

I am struggling with my job these days. Not exactly the way I'd wanted to begin a new year, or a new week for that matter.

I have been with UPS over thirty years. I have, through my employer, been given opportunities I would never have had at most other companies. I walked into the Human Resources Department with little to offer but healthy muscles and a willingness to work hard. I walked out with a part-time union job with full benefits, and an employer I was proud to call my own. The first time I walked under the wing of a 747 or sat in what would typically be the luggage hold, or drove a monstrous deck loader, was at UPS. The first time I booted up a computer, or planned the load distribution for an MD-11, or orchestrated the movement of over fifty tractor trailer loads and drivers, delivering thousands of packages to homes, hospitals and hardware stores, was at UPS. It was exciting! I was part of a team "delivering service" to millions of people all over the world everyday. I was no surgeon or scientist, but everyone was impacted by the work I did. I was doing something for everyone. And the skills I gained were one of the benefits of working for a top-notch company that took pride in its equipment and the people it employed. The folks I met were the cream of the crop in the industry. The day I was approached to be part of it's management team, I was driven to a condo where spit-shined suits in Aviator glasses sat across from me telling me I was on the cutting edge of something wonderful. There I was, in my work boots, grease ground into the calf of my jeans, not knowing who any of these guys were -- yes, they were all men, the Boys Club -- but knowing they were definitely "big." But UPS had a "first-name" policy: the CEO to the local porter were known by their first names -- we were all partners, none more indispensable than the next, and certainly none disposable. It was a multi-million dollar, international company with a Mom and Pop mentality towards its image, and, Oh! How I loved it!

Things began to change. First, a name change: no more United Parcel Service. Then, new programs were rolled out -- cost-cutting measures packaged as "different options." A company savings plan was, allegedly, dissolved. Those who heeded the deadline and cashed in learned, later, the program existed for many years after, for some. Healthcare benefits that once gave employees carte blanche at medical facilities around the world were reduced to payroll deductions, co-pays and networks. Meetings were exchanged in favor of group chats and email. "Homey" little touches like Christmas turkeys, paper towels in the bathroom, and a heartfelt "Thank you" from your partners were done away with. Retirement celebrations and safety incentives were no longer funded. Trucks were no longer washed or maintained on schedule; light fixtures remained broken for-- well, ever, it seems; and "two means of egress in case of fire" was disregarded in order to keep vandalism under control. "More with less" has become the mantra, and there are no more partners, only plebs.

Perhaps I've watched too many movies where the CEO appears before employees, thanks them for their service, and then gives them the "tighten our belts" speech. I can respect that. I was once a partner, a partner who would do anything for Big Brown. I would have gone to my grave eating cat food to save the company I loved, if I thought it needed saving. But it doesn't -- not from financial ruin. Day after day I see former bonuses wasted on management decisions a fourth-grader would question. I see former raises wasted on people that aren't worth the paper their degrees are printed on.

But UPS does need saving from itself. Day after day I see former camaraderie vanquished by classlessness and the cutthroat self-promotion that always rears its head under corrupt absolute power. I see former attitudes of pulling others up with you and sharing the wealth being long forgotten, and survival of the sleaziest becoming the norm. I see what was once pride in a benevolent employer dissolving into grief, abandonment, and even disloyalty.

Maybe that's why I felt the need to write this: to help me process my grief; to, maybe, contribute something to save UPS from itself; or maybe, because I haven't completely lost hope.