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Things I've Learned as a Courier.
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<blockquote data-quote="Code 82 Approved" data-source="post: 1702777" data-attributes="member: 46394"><p>My first few years at Ground, I was a private swing driver hired by a half dozen contractors to give them more vacation. I basically did one route and went to the next route the week after. Rinse and repeat.</p><p></p><p>4 of those were rural routes during that time, and one had this house about a mile in from the main road. A real winding turd with low branches and a few suspect bridges over creeks that flowed through the property. Once at the house, there was little room to turn around a P1000. But it was do-able if they didn't have cars in the way. A true test of close quarters maneuvering.</p><p></p><p>On my last visit to this hell house, I was greeted by a friendly Weimaraner dog. I threw him a dog biscuit and took a step up the stairs to the porch, only to be bitten right in the ass. Left them a note on their door explaining what happened, along with my cell #. I explained I would be happy to meet them at the road, take their pkgs to their work, or whatever solution they wished to suggest. No response.</p><p></p><p>For the rest of the time I did that route I hung their packages in a bag at the highway sign identifying their house number with the following msg on a door tag:</p><p></p><p>I'm the bitten one.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Code 82 Approved, post: 1702777, member: 46394"] My first few years at Ground, I was a private swing driver hired by a half dozen contractors to give them more vacation. I basically did one route and went to the next route the week after. Rinse and repeat. 4 of those were rural routes during that time, and one had this house about a mile in from the main road. A real winding turd with low branches and a few suspect bridges over creeks that flowed through the property. Once at the house, there was little room to turn around a P1000. But it was do-able if they didn't have cars in the way. A true test of close quarters maneuvering. On my last visit to this hell house, I was greeted by a friendly Weimaraner dog. I threw him a dog biscuit and took a step up the stairs to the porch, only to be bitten right in the ass. Left them a note on their door explaining what happened, along with my cell #. I explained I would be happy to meet them at the road, take their pkgs to their work, or whatever solution they wished to suggest. No response. For the rest of the time I did that route I hung their packages in a bag at the highway sign identifying their house number with the following msg on a door tag: I'm the bitten one. [/QUOTE]
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