By Lyndsey Gilpin
It’s 3:34 am. The vast United Parcel Service parking lot seems endless, lined with cold wire fences and armies of white vans. The UPS sign stretches upwards, and its uniform colors of brown and yellow produce a neon-like luster into the clear night sky.
Waves of individuals rush out in silence. Their only similarities are their dazed expressions and chunky work boots. No second glances are given to coworkers. Conversation ceased when the damp, chilly air brushed their faces. Some wait for rides, trying to pull sentences together as they stand in small circles. There’s plenty of time to think before they speak; deafening roars of planes sound overhead every few minutes.
A rare smile flashes, a cigarette is lit, and an engine starts up. Asphalt crackles under tires, shuttle bus breaks squeal, and hands fiddle in pockets for keys. It’s all routine; and it’s all done with glazed-over eyes.
What happened in here tonight? The students who work five nights a week from midnight to 4 a.m. at UPS seem to live double lives. The way they function is tremendously different from the rest of the University of Louisville community.
Lindsey Likens, Karl Bergman, and Kaitlyn Wenmeyer all entered the premises around 11:30 p.m. They each parked in the closest available space and trudged toward the entrance, where hundreds of others gathered around the checkpoint, swinging lanyards around their neck and shuffling into the building.
Bergman drove an hour from Meade County, dodging deer and racing through the dark in an autopilot state. He has been performing this routine since June, and will continue it until next August when the fall semester begins. Bergman walks into the wailing yells of conveyor belts and the musty smell of cardboard. “I always feel comfortable here,” he said.
Wenmeyer didn’t have a far drive from the house her family moved into last June in the heart of Louisville. Her father works for UPS, and she started working last September. Her relaxing night at home was interrupted by her need to leave for work, but she couldn’t help be excited to leave. She had plenty to tell her coworkers about her day.
Likens said she had just left a fraternity house party, hurrying from the dance floor to her car. She yelled goodbyes to her sorority sisters and acted as though she was reluctant to depart, but she was secretly anxious to get to work.
The three come together at “the loop,” their destination, and where their labor begins. Along with 32 others, they gather around computers to print off new labels for boxes that were matched incorrectly. Conversations bloom once they are in each other’s company.
“I’m usually not a people person. But here, I have so many different friendships and there is always good talk. Everyone gets along.” Wenmeyer said.
Likens has no problem getting to know other coworkers and is known as an overachiever. While others view “sleep” as their first priority after work, Likens constantly runs through lists of what she needs to get done and does it all as cheerfully as possible.
Lack of sleep doesn’t seem to faze many of the student/workers.
“It’s not hard to adjust,” said Wenmeyer. “It’s like staying up late in the summer for me. I focus on the afternoons, not the mornings.” She heads to bed at around 8 or 9 a.m. usually, and naps until 1 p.m.
On the other hand, for some it took a little to get used to.
“It’s hard to adjust at first. It took me a whole semester to get used to it. But now, it’s like second nature. It’s what is necessary to keep the job and do well in school simultaneously.” Likens said.
For many students at U of L to afford school, this job is necessary. To obtain an education, they must sacrifice their time. But none of them consider complaining.
“People don’t understand the job. It’s a great opportunity. It’s a family atmosphere; you get something from this shift that you can’t get anywhere else.” Bergman said.
They aren’t robots wearing stiff, brown uniforms. Somehow, each keeps their individuality in a place so unvarying. They have almost identical responsibilities and all form the same strange, habitual routines that may never be completely broken. But many learn something new each night.
Although the average student at U of L must adjust to balancing school, work, and fun; UPS students add several things to the list. Their sleeping patterns must change and they cannot take advantage of as many opportunities and functions both on and off campus.
However, UPS workers are rewarded for the sacrifices they make. Their full tuition is paid and bonuses are given to students who keep their grades up. Pay starts out at $7 an hour and increases with experience and promotions.
“It teaches us discipline. It shows us how to work quickly in stressful situations. It gives us a strong work ethic.” Likens said.
And all the while, they laugh. They form relationships with people they may never have considered speaking to before. Stereotypes vanish when entering the building because they all work toward the same goal each night.
During her ten-minute break, Likens turns to a small room with glowing vending machines and a humming fridge. Sitting on a cold, rigid bench, she sighs and takes in her surroundings. She smells sweat, coffee, and a freshly cooked microwave dinner. “Saturday Night Live” plays quietly on the television overhead, while young men mumble about upcoming basketball games.
“One more day of this; I’m using a vacation day to go watch the Cards.” Likens overhears from a coworker.
She tunes them out eventually; her head buzzes with tasks that need to be done in the approaching morning hours. Likens’ classes begin at 1 p.m. and, at latest, end around 7 p.m. Afterwards; she makes time for the gym, homework, and meetings for various organizations.
Likens walks back to her spot on the line, longingly searching for a break in the stream of packages. In the beginning, she used to wonder about the endless possibilities of the objects boxed up.
Each has its history. Each has an owner.
“It’s actually really nice to see how much people care for each other. We’ve seen a lot wrapped in pretty paper. Some actually write things all over the boxes like, ‘I love you,’ or ‘Happy Birthday!'” Wenmeyer said.
The packages eventually become familiar, just like everything else in this place.
Slowly, clusters of the 6,000 who work the graveyard shift stagger towards the exit. Their four hours are up; for some it seemed drawn out; for others, the escape from reality hasn’t lingered long enough.
Some rush out the door in a hurry to get home for a shower and quick nap before an 8 a.m. Speed School class. Several stroll leisurely, with no responsibilities for the rest of the day. Others walk briskly, ready for a hot meal at the nearest Waffle House.
All have their separate agendas now.
They step off the curb, now complete individuals, no longer united by their work.
