I’m not one to dwell on the negative, but let me just come right out and say it: I fucking hate summertime.

Like, “I hate Brussels sprouts” hate. “I’d rather be eaten alive by a shark” hate. Whatever you hate most, times 70. That kind of hate.

If I had a gun, summer wouldn’t live to tell the tale.

April showers bring May flowers, but in my world those flowers take the unpleasant shape of anxiety. I need a summer job, because I’d like to start off university with a buffer, but I also want to do fun things because it’s so warm. A morning job would be perfect, but mostly if it’s indoors. Not on some farm. Also not in a shop. Also not in some sad warehouse. After such a long, sanctimonious list of Things I Don’t Want, I’m left with two options. This is how I become a postal worker. The other option would’ve been morning prostitution.

Delivering mail is really quite nice. I get up early in the morning, and make my way to the distribution center around the corner from my house where, in the presence of sturdy air conditioning, I sort my mail. Before I know it, I’m ready to get on my bike to deliver mail, accompanied by a light breeze.

This is what my life is like from May to July. And now it’s August.

This morning’s shift starts at 11:30, which allows me to skip sorting and go right on to delivery. Two neighborhoods instead of one divided over three bags that need to make it into two bike bags. I can tell the buckled back wheel of my bike is in for an adventure. So there we go, me and a mountain of mail, on our way to Eindhoven’s two largest neighborhoods.

Now’s the moment to move into timeline mode.

11:45 A.M.: On my way, bags continuously falling off my bike. I’ll be fine.

12:11 P.M.: Almost done by the Canal. Didn’t need to get off my bike much during delivery. Parched. Let’s take a sip.

12:20 P.M.: Another sip.

12:27 P.M.: Okay, am I even on the right street?

12:32 P.M.: Let’s take another sip. Urgh, it’s lukewarm.

12:57 P.M.: Package too big for mailbox. Rang the doorbell, no one home. Sip of water.

1:24 P.M.: First neighborhood done.

1:31 P.M.: Second neighborhood is huge. Long streets. Almost out of water. Last sip.

1:36 P.M.: Definitely out of water now.

1:57 P.M.: Lot of dogs in this working class neighborhood. Everyone’s outside in their front yard.

2:01 P.M.: “WET FENCE” says number 49. “THAT FENCE HAS BEEN PAINTED!” yells the neighbor across the street, rolling a cigarette. My wet hand agrees.

2:34 P.M.: Almost got bitten by a dog. Damn, it’s hot.

2:49 P.M.: Just checked, but I’m still out of water.

3:03 P.M.: Man, these streets are long! I’m hungry. I can’t even see the end of the street.

3:09 P.M.: Yet another close encounter with a rabid dog.

3:11 P.M.: People with fucked up mailboxes don’t deserve to get their mail. Almost lost a finger.

3:26 P.M.: I want for it to be winter. Fuck this weather.

3:27 P.M.: I didn’t even know I had pores there, but my ears are sweating.

3:31 P.M.: Gosh I need water.

3:46 P.M.: Pffff, just a few more streets. Almost done. Water.

3:47 P.M.: Okay, let’s take a quick break, this clearly isn’t working. Water. Fucking sun. Let me sit down on my bike’s carrier.

3:49 P.M.: Dizzy.

3:49 P.M.: What time is it? Let me check my phone.

3:50 P.M.: Wa.

3:51 P.M.: Ter.

3:51 P.M.: As long as I keep my eyes focused on that blue car, things will be fine.

3:52 P.M.: Why is that blue car sinking into the ground?

4:01 P.M.: Miss? Miss? MISS? Oh my God — MISS, CAN YOU HEAR ME?!

4:02 P.M.: Miss? You’re lying in the bushes. Are you okay? Did you fall?

4:03 P.M.: I suppose so? How long have I been here?

4:04 P.M.: Do you think you’re hurt? Let me grab you a glass of water. I live right there, I’ll be back in a second.

All postal workers have experienced this hot weather scenario. It’s 7,000 degrees, the dogs suck, people look at you from their lawn chair with eyes that say “ah, you poor thing. I’m so glad I don’t have to move today.” You’re sweating. You’re rapidly developing skin cancer.

I’ll spare you the photographic proof, but it’s safe to say that Black people can tan. I’m going to bed for a well-deserved night’s sleep, and I’ll do it all again tomorrow, with a cooler, ten pounds of ice, and 80 bottles of water.