At the end of my to-fro with the UPS delivery driver, I blurted out "I used to work for National Carriers in England": must be been trying too hard to establish my down with the hood cred. But it's true: the Summer after I left college we set off on a road trip round England looking for a) work b) somewhere to live that wasn't a sky-blue Citroen Dyane. After a few weeks the solution to those two requirements intersected on the same day in Cambridge. We rented a two bedroom micro-flat in Chesterton from Jesus College and I started work the following Monday behind the railway station with National Carriers - the parcel delivery wing of British Rail.
The first week I shadowed one of the more patient drivers to learn the paper work: every day we had lunch in the van parked just outside the perimeter of Stansted Airport because the gaffer was a place spotter. One of the other drivers was a Polish exile who had escaped to England in 1940 and flown Spitfires for the RAF. All this was wasted on me because i.m.o. aeroplanes are meh!