BBQ

I walk through the warehouse. It's almost 3pm, almost quitting time. The warehouse employees are working like it's Friday: just enough to not be noticed, but not enough to care. Their voices are upbeat, and there's alot of laughter and camaraderie. I walk to the lockers. I pull out my backpack, put away my utility knife, pen and marker. James steps out of the plant and walks to the water cooler.

"You going to the employee BBQ?" I ask.

"No," he replies, "are you?"

"Yes."

"Really? You're the last person I'd expect to see there."

"I'm not staying long, just making an appearance."

"Not me."

I throw my backpack over my shoulders. James pours a cup of water, begins drinking.

"See you Monday," I tell him.

He nods and finishes his water.

"Yeah. See ya man," he replies a little out of breath.

I walk to the door, step out into the sunshine. A smattering of people are at the end of the parking lot setting up tables and chairs. A couple of supervisors dressed in chef's hats and aprons work behind a large grill. Smoke wafts up into the afternoon sky. I walk across the parking lot. Out of the small crowd steps Ron. He begins walking toward the warehouse.

"Hey Ron," I say to him as he walks passed, "is the BBQ going?"

"No," he replies, "they're just setting up."

"When will it be ready?"

"4pm. You're going right?"

"I don't know. I don't really want to wait around an hour."

"You could help set up."

"I just got off work."

He laughs.

"Okay then, see you Monday," he says.

I wave and say goodbye. I walk across the parking lot toward the exit. I pass by the BBQ. Various employees stir about laying out hotdog and hamburger buns, cans of soda pop, ketchup, relish, mustard, styrofoam plates, and paper napkins. No one notices my passing. I walk out onto the sidewalk. The sun blazes down. I massage my brow, adjust my backpack. The cars roar by. I walk to the end of the block and wait for the traffic light to turn. I check my watch - 3:15 pm. I put my hands in my pockets. The light changes, and I cross the street.

Different Women

"Hey!" says a woman's voice.

Todd and I turn around. It's one of the women from the graphic design department.

"Yes," I reply.

She walks over.

"I'm looking for something," she says.

She clasps her hands together like she's about to pray. Her sleeves slide down from her wrists to her elbows. There are large orange and black tattoos all along her forearms.

"What are you looking for?" I ask.

"It's something clandestine," she replies absurdly.

"Clandestine?" says Todd.

"Yes. Should I talk to Rob?" she continues, "or can I just have a look around?"

"Well, what are you looking for?" I ask.

"Um..." she hesitates, "it's some papers concerning sales and production."

"Oh. See Rob about it," I tell her.

"Okay," she says.

Todd and I turn and leave. She walks to Rob's office. The door is closed. He's on the phone. She stands and waits for a few moments then gives up and leaves. Todd watches her as she walks away.

"Did you see the tattoos on her?" he asks.

"Yeah," I reply, "if she's the same girl I'm thinking about, she's lost a lot of weight."

"She used to be fat?!"

"Yeah I think so."

"Well she sure seems to like you. Did you see how she came right up to you. She didn't ask me a thing."

I begin to walk towards the factory doors. Todd follows wisecracking about the tattooed girl. We walk passed the shrink wrapper. Kevin S. is wrapping skids of product. He overhears Todd's bantering.

"Who's hot for Nelson?" he asks.

"Some tattooed chick from the offices up front," Todd answers.

"Ya like 'em wild Nelson?" asks Kevin S.

"Yes I do," I reply with exaggerated confidence.

"Which one are you guys talking about anyway? Is it the one who works in the graphics room?" Kevin S. continues.

"Yeah," says Todd, "she's pretty hot. You should see the tattoos on her."

Todd strokes his forearms to show Kevin S. where the tattoos are located.

"It's that girl from graphics who used to be really fat, but has now lost a lot of weight," I say to Kevin S.

"Fat girl?" Kevin S. replies, "you're thinking of 2 different chicks. The fat one was tattooed as well, but they let her go. The one you're talking about is new."

"What did they do? Cut the first one in half?" I ask.

Kevin S. looks at me strangely. Todd laughs.

"The fat one was a rental," Kevin S. continues, "Kinda like you were a rental, but the difference being we decided to keep you. They let her go. The one you're thinking about is new."

"And all this time I've been thinking they're one in the same."

Todd doubles over, slaps his knee.

"Yeah, they both have tattoos and black hair," says Kevin S.

"And piercings," adds Todd.

I begin to walk away. Todd and Kevin S. continue to make jokes.

"And..." says Kevin S. stepping onto his forklift, "were pretty sure this new one's got piercings somewhere else if you know what I mean."

I smile and nod and continue walking away. I push open the factory doors, put on a hairnet, and walk to the large sinks inside the doors. I turn on the water, let it run for a few seconds. I look down at my hands. They are covered in grime. I hold them under the running water, and begin scrubbing. The doors to the plant fly open. James walks through with a dolley loaded high with large boxes. I finish cleaning my hands, and tear off a piece of paper towel. James stops the dolley.

"Who were you and Todd and Kevin talking about?" he asks.

"We were talking about how I thought two women from the graphics department were the same person," I reply throwing out the paper towel.

James starts to laugh.

"There was a fat one working in there before, and I thought she'd lost some weight, but it turns out the slim one is a completely different girl," I continue.

"Are you talking about the husky one with blonde hair?"

"No these girls both had black hair and tattoos."

James begins to walk away.

"All I know of big girls in there is the blonde one," he says pulling the dolley behind him.

"Completely different fat girl," I tell him.

He shrugs his shoulders and walks away.

"Never saw any black haired ones in there. You guys are on drugs," he says.

Empty Totes

The steering grip of the jack is gummed up. It leaves a sticky residue on the hands. It's a disgusting feeling. I shake my head and press down on the control lever. I pump the jack. The pallet rises. I swing it around and place it in a more accessible position.

"Nelson! You did not initial the 'milk dump' you did last time. I initialed for you," says Bert.

Bert is a nuissance. He will not do anything for himself, and what he does do he doesn't do very much of.

"Thanks," I reply.

I remove the jack and hand it over to Bert.

"You should try washing your hands sometimes," I tell him as he pulls the jack away.

"Oh sorry," he says smiling.

I step on the forklift and begin moving it forward. It's difficult to maneuver. Empty totes are clogging up the aisles, and broken skids lay strewn about. I pull up to the pallet, extend the forks of the lift, raise the pallet and back away. I spin the forklift around, pull up to Bert's work platform, and lower the skid.

"Thanks Nelson," says Bert tapping the back of the forklift.

"You're welcome," I reply, "but you better back up because I've got to move this machine out of here."

"Oh yes! Yes!" he says.

He turns to walk away. Positioned directly behind him is an empty tote. He barely gets two steps off. His foot gets hooked in the boards of a pallet. He loses his balance, and falls directly into the tote. He lands flat on his back with his feet dangling over the cardboard walls of the tote. It's ridiculous, but I do not laugh.

"You alright Bert?" I ask.

"Yes, I'm okay," he replies pulling himself out of the tote.

He get's out and brushes himself off. He sees me waiting for him, and moves out of the way.

"Maybe you should remove some of these empty totes," I suggest.

"Yes you're probably right," he replies.

I put the forklift in reverse and drive out of his work area.

Earthquakes

I push the cage. It collides with another cage, and then another. The noise is loud, metallic. Todd steps in from behind and begins pushing as well. All three cages slide together in unison. We push them about ten feet. I stand back. I can feel the heat of sweat upon my face, and the pain of an old injury in my back.

"I'm making room for the 1 lb cages," I say to Todd pointing toward the space we've just opened up.

"So what production lines are doing what?" he asks.

"Lines 2 and 3 are doing 2 lb, which we have the packaging cages ready for, but line 1 is out of 1 lb packaging and they need it right now."

I pull a pallet jack out from under a nearby skid, wheel it across the floor, slam it into a skid of boxes that are obstructing our way. I raise the jack, spin the skid around and slide it into open space underneath the warehouse racking. I remove the pallet jack and slide it under one of the cages. It hits the steel of the cage with a loud crack. I turn the wheel of the jack, lock it in place. I look up. One aisle over, beside one of the many stacked cages is A. She has a clipboard in her hand. There's eye contact between the two of us for a second.

"I need to get the 1 lb packaging out. If you could remove the rest of the empty cages from the lines that would be great," I say to Todd looking away from her.

Todd salutes me in mock deference.

"Yes C.O. sir," he replies.

I take the pallet jack out from under the cage and drag it behind me. Stacked to the ceiling are cages and cages of packaging. I slide the jack under one of the stacks. The stack is four cages high. I raise the jack. The cages shake with every tiny movement. It's extremely unstable. I slowly pull the stack across the aisle and out of the way. The last stack is the 1 lb packaging. I slide the pallet jack underneath the base cage. It hits the wall behind the stack. I feel the crack of the cement in my wrists. I crank the steering column of the jack, the stack slowly rises. I turn around to pull it out from the wall. Standing behind me waiting, is A. The cages I'm about to move are directly beside the door to her office. I let go of the jack, and lock the steering column.

"Go ahead," I say to her motioning in the direction of the door.

"Oh, thank you," she says.

A. walks to the door.

"I'm glad to see these cages go," she says turning toward me, "I'm always afraid they'll come down in an earthquake."

"As soon as they go they'll fill them right back up again," I reply.

"Oh no really?"

"Except twice as high as this stack so gravity will work harder against you."

"Great."

One of the company IT techs walks toward her.

"Hi," she says to him reaching for the door to her office.

She turns the knob. It clicks lightly, but doesn't move.

"It's locked," she says.

I raise the jack again, and begin pulling on the stack. It won't budge. I pull harder. The cage at the top rattles and shakes. Each cage weighs over 150 lbs empty. These ones are completely full. A. looks up at the top cage while the IT tech finds the key to the door. She looks nervous. I drop jack down and adjust it's positioning. The tech gets the office door open. Both he and A. step inside and close the door behind them. I raise the jack and manage to work the stack free. I pull it out, and ready it for the forklift.