Level 1.3
Levels of Disillusionment
Yesterday morning, Paul woke up to an overcast sky. He rolled back to sleep three times. Then, with a start, he realized it was daylight. Crap, he thought to himself, I'm late.
Paul flopped out of bed, pulled some pants and shoes on, while he called across the attic, "Hey, Ben, it's six fifteen. We only have fifteen minutes before people start calling about late newspapers." Paul didn't wait to make sure that his brother was up and out the door. He bounded down two flights of stairs, out the door, and started counting the bundles of newspapers the truck had left on their front stoop. With the deftness of someone who had performed the task for the past three years every morning, routine enough that he could do it in his sleep, Paul counted, folded, rubber-banded, and packed the quarter-inch think news-folds into his carrier bag. By the time Ben had made his way down the stairs, Paul had already packed up his ninety papers and was starting out the door, the backdoor. Paul delivered the papers on his bike. Not because he wanted to be cool and throw them. Actually, he could only toss about a third of his deliveries. Most of his customers were particular about where they wanted the paper left: in a mail box, between the screen door and the front door, on a special shelf, etc. For Paul, figuring out how riding his bicycle could make the job quicker took some time. Mostly it saved time in covering the long distances between the houses. It wasn't that the town was full of homes with big yards, it was simply that lots of people didn't get the paper; so, in-town paper routes could be pretty spread out. Between Ben and Paul, they covered about half of the in-town routes for the Tribunal Gazette.
They could finish their routes in about forty-five minutes, less if they rushed, like they were doing today. Paul was back at the house by six fifty. Ben wouldn't be back until seven. It wasn't a huge deal to be late one day. They were hardly ever late, and thirty minutes wasn't egregious negligence. Only twice, maybe, in the past three years had anyone ever called about a late paper.
The sky was still overcast by the time Paul was leaving the house again. School, like the paper route was walking distance.
Yesterday morning, Paul woke up to an overcast sky. He rolled back to sleep three times. Then, with a start, he realized it was daylight. Crap, he thought to himself, I'm late.
Paul flopped out of bed, pulled some pants and shoes on, while he called across the attic, "Hey, Ben, it's six fifteen. We only have fifteen minutes before people start calling about late newspapers." Paul didn't wait to make sure that his brother was up and out the door. He bounded down two flights of stairs, out the door, and started counting the bundles of newspapers the truck had left on their front stoop. With the deftness of someone who had performed the task for the past three years every morning, routine enough that he could do it in his sleep, Paul counted, folded, rubber-banded, and packed the quarter-inch think news-folds into his carrier bag. By the time Ben had made his way down the stairs, Paul had already packed up his ninety papers and was starting out the door, the backdoor. Paul delivered the papers on his bike. Not because he wanted to be cool and throw them. Actually, he could only toss about a third of his deliveries. Most of his customers were particular about where they wanted the paper left: in a mail box, between the screen door and the front door, on a special shelf, etc. For Paul, figuring out how riding his bicycle could make the job quicker took some time. Mostly it saved time in covering the long distances between the houses. It wasn't that the town was full of homes with big yards, it was simply that lots of people didn't get the paper; so, in-town paper routes could be pretty spread out. Between Ben and Paul, they covered about half of the in-town routes for the Tribunal Gazette.
They could finish their routes in about forty-five minutes, less if they rushed, like they were doing today. Paul was back at the house by six fifty. Ben wouldn't be back until seven. It wasn't a huge deal to be late one day. They were hardly ever late, and thirty minutes wasn't egregious negligence. Only twice, maybe, in the past three years had anyone ever called about a late paper.
The sky was still overcast by the time Paul was leaving the house again. School, like the paper route was walking distance.
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