One more shop on the route

The van leaves the depot in Kafr El Sheikh before seven, loaded with cartons of crisps, wafers and tinned beans for the small shops of the villages around the city.

For the boy who loads it, the day ends at three. He is paid for his hours, and when the hours are done, he is done.

For the driver, the day ends when the van is empty. The orders were taken yesterday; once the last carton is dropped, he goes home.

The salesman sitting next to him has a harder problem. He is paid on what he sells, and there is always one more shop. One more village off the main road, where the grocer has not been visited in a month. One more conversation that might turn into a standing order. One more stop that might be the one that makes the week.

Nothing on his route says stop. The list of possible shops is effectively endless, and it was designed that way. Every incentive he has points towards one more.

More and more work looks like his. Writing, selling, building a small business, looking after customers: none of it has a natural last step. There is no bell at the end of the shift and no empty van.

That leaves each of us with a choice the job will not make for us. Where is enough? It is a question no manager, customer or competitor is going to answer on our behalf, because every one of them benefits a little from the answer being later.

The salesman who visits the extra shop at eight in the evening may sell a few more cartons. He may also be worse at the first shop tomorrow morning. Longer is not the same as better, and deciding where the day ends is part of the work.