This Is Why I'm Like This: Warehouse, Second Verse, Same As The First

   The warehouse people arrive at 7 am. As my ride is from the front office who arrive around 9, that's when I get in. The warehouse is almost vacant by 3pm, with only one forklift guy on shift and one guy in production. I don't know what he's doing, it looks like sorting brackets. He's seated and is watching TV shows on his phone.

    Tuesday.
    8.45 I enter with Jim, get my apron from his office and punch in. I have a time card and it's weirdly delightful for me to punch in. Even though it's computerized now, not like back in the day when you got that satisfying "CH-CHUNK". The screen politely reminds me to punch in and, and when I slide my card, it says "Punch Successful". I find it comforting to be told I've completed an electronic task appropriately.

   8.46 I walk to my station to realize it's been largely disassembled. I suspected as much, as I was not in Friday and Quality Control was not in on Monday. Everyone is so minding their own business I have to walk to the production office and find the Young Assistant who was so friendly last week. I ask him if he can fetch the barrels for me, as a forklift is required and I don't have a Class Two rating like Ripely did. He is happy to see me, as apparently had I not arrived he would have had to splooge sunscreen today. I said "I said I'd be back, I'll finish what I started." He may not hear me as he's fetching the forklift, celebrating that he is free of this task.

   8.48 Once the barrel is in place, I locate a trash can and realize I have no idea where the plastic bags are. Again, I venture into production and ask the young lady who seems to be in charge. She kindly walks me to where the bags are stored, introduces herself, "L", and we have a pleasant exchange about how there was no way I'd have found the clearly marked bags tucked back in the maze of production.

   8.53 I have boxes of sunscreen, barrel of goo and trash can with bag. Now I have to open the barrel. Which is...bound to two other barrels with one of those ratchet tie downs. Which is fine, except this one seems to be defective and I cannot loosen it to get the metal rim off of my barrel. I pop the metal rim, hoping it can be squeaked past, but no go, the strap needs to be loosened. I continue to pull on the lever that indicates it will release the strap, and it does not. I again go fetch someone, this time a young man down the aisle with a clipboard. I explain my dilemma, and he is happy to help. When he gets to the barrel, he struggles with the strap and says "This is broken...." then wrenches it hard and loosens it right up. I am grateful, again, as I thus far have not been able to do anything on this job today. The young man mumbles a "Welcome" as he hurries back to his post. I assume he's embarrassed for me.

    9 am OK, everything is ready except I don't have a Swiss Army knife to open the boxes and caps. Schlep up to the production office, but nobody is there. So I head to the front office to ask Jim if I can use his. He has a spare one in his desk drawer, score. I encounter Quality Control who tells me the Facilities Manager has a "cache" of knives. I compliment him on his word choice and continue back to my spot, as he was not in the office when I needed a knife from his cache, which Quality Control called "Cash-ayyy", emphasizing the "ayy". Nicely done.

  The Facilities Manager is the guy who bought Shoniqua from me after I wrecked her. He restored her and loves her and gave her a great new home, but he is always awkward around me. Dunno what that's about. Last week when I arrived to work, I needed something from him, and he was busy and abrupt at first. Once he looked up at me he went white, and started stuttering.  Dude, I'm not the queen, I need something to hold the plastic bag inside the barrel, like a clamp. It's fine. And how's Shoniqua? Give her my love.
 
   9.05 am and I am on it. Open box, dump 24 individually wrapped sun screens on top of closed barrel. Remove 24 individual plastic wraps. Pop 24 individual lids using your handy dandy Swiss Army Knife tool. Break down box. Sploooosh 24 individually wrong sunscreens into barrel. Throw containers in trash. Put phone on You Tube, choose Duran Duran and go. Bliss.

    9.30 "L" is schlepping a load past me and pauses. I take out my headphones and smile. "What they got you doin'?" she asks I indicate my routine and say "They're marked wrong, I guess."
     "So they have you working production?"
     "Is this production?" I ask, as I am wedged at the end of a loading aisle.
     "Ya, that's me. I'm responsible for all of this area"
     "You guys do the filling, right?"
      "Ya, mostly filling, sometimes sorting. I do stuff up front if they need to. I've done this stuff before to...(she indicates my Sacred Ritual). I don't mind. I like it."
       "Did  y'all fill these?" I ask matter of factly.
       "Probably, hard to know who did it."
       I took at her. She can't be more than 22. Generously proportioned, black skin completely blemish free. I think she's beautiful.
      I ask "How long have you been here?"
      "Year and a half."
      "You like it?"
      "Ya, a lot. I am responsible for this area, I want to move up, you know, I don't want to stay on the same level."
      "Cool, you seem happy."
       "What they got you doin' after this?"
       "I dunnno, I think counting brackets? I guess you have a semi trailer out there full of them." She nods. "Then I'm supposed to sort soap."
       "That's cool, I don't have to do it I guess, I'm happy to. What else do you do?"
       "I'm a teacher. This is quiet. I like it."
       She smiled like I said "I'm a shark, I like to be on land."
       "Okay, you let me know if you need anything else."
        I smile as she schleps away and put my headphones back in, realizing I'm on You Tube, I could be watching videos while I do this!
        So let it be written, so let it be done.

       10.35 Break time. I head up front to fetch my "Space Yogurt". I pass Quality Control and he says "Is it break time already?" I look at the big analog clock and answer "For those of us who can read an analog, yes."
       He laughs and walks into the break room ahead of me. "And drive a stick. I saw this thing about a guy who doesn't have an alarm on his car, because it's a stick shift. Nobody can drive  a stick any more." He turns toward his office, and while I'm in Jim's office eating my space yogurt, I hear him playing his guitar.

       10.50 back at it. Open box, dump 24 individually wrapped sun screens on top of closed barrel. Remove 24 individual plastic wraps. Pop 24 individual lids using your handy dandy Swiss Army Knife tool. Break down box. Sploooosh 24 individually wrong sunscreens into barrel. Throw containers in trash.  Duran Duran has played out, and I'm thinking of switching to a musical, even though the delight of watching their videos and recalling that I used their hair color as a guide for mine never tires. I look up to see a Fork Lift guy paused nearby. Generally they just whip around me, as I am clearly in everyone's way. He's smiling at me. I take off my headphones and smile back.
      "A lot better than students, huh? More quiet, better than those loud kids all day?"
     "Smells better, too." I quip. Damn I'm funny.
     His smile falters, and he fumbles "But teaching is rewarding I'm sure."
     I'm pretty sure I rolled my eyes against my will. "Ya, I'm sure."

    12.30 lunch break. I walk to the break room and almost run directly into Jim, who was coming out to find me. I punch out (I get to punch out and back in for lunch!) and Jim scrounges around the fridge for our lunches that we packed this morning. I think next week I should eat in here with these guys instead of in my husband's office, maybe I can eavesdrop more story ideas. 'cause I'm a total jerk like that.

We realized last night that the dogs would be created almost 10 hours today if I work the whole shift. I figure nobody really cares how much I get done, nobody's in a hurry, and I can't leave the dogs crated that long. I decide I'll leave about 2. I want to get to a point that I can finish this thing by Thursday. I have 19 boxes left at lunch, which is almost halfway there, 34 boxes total to start. If I can get through two more before I leave, I can finish by Thursday.

   1-2 same as before, but listening to the Chicago soundtrack and thinking of cool warehouse  icons, like Ripley in Aliens. And what's her noodle in Flashdance, who was construction and welding not warehouse so never mind. Norma Rae! Mr. Miyagi coulda worked in a warehouse! Yasssss. This shit is zen, man, busy soccer moms need to come work some time in a warehouse, it will fix everything. Why pay $22 for a zen yoga class when you can make $15 emptying sunscreen? None of these people are anxious, unhappy, grumpy or inflicting an agenda on others. They're just doing what they do. Zen. Dude. I hate to leave but I have dogs.

    Quality Control stops by. He asks me if I like lotion? "Not any more," I joke. He puts a large container of body lotion on my barrel and tells me the story of how it's orange, but the customer didn't like the color and returned it. But because the color is not indicated on the opaque bottle, it was returned to stock, then resent to the same customer. I laugh with him as he acts out the scenario of returning and restocking, and fetching and how the mistake happened. "It needs to leave," he smiles. I thank him and promise I won't return it to the stock. He smiles back and shrugs, again, no rush, no fuss, no anxiety. Just groovy.

    So I punch out, and drive home to let the dogs out and finish sorting the boxes from the spare room, the Last Purge from the renovation! It's oddly unsatisfying, as I can't watch videos due the amount of attention I must give to this task. But I can listen to music. Zen relaxation is the choice.

    Sadly, it is not the same. Disappointed, I finish my sorting, load the ARC donations into my car and take a nap.

    You heard me.

    It was glorious.