No Women In The Warehouse

Jeff talks to one of the temporary telemarketers. She's a big girl, blonde, not ugly, but not beautiful either. They finish speaking. She waves and walks toward the exit. Jeff turns, sees me working on a store order, and walks over to talk.

"She's pretty don't you think?" Jeff asks.

"She's not bad," I reply.

"I think she's pretty," he says watching the girl leave the building.

The forklift doors to the plant open. Gary S. steps out pulling a small cart.

"What's up?" he says stopping and standing beside us.

"Nelson and I were just talking about how pretty the new girl was," Jeff replies.

"New warehouse girl?" Gary S. asks.

"No, she works as a telemarketer, but apparently she did try to apply for the warehouse," says Jeff.

"Really?" I ask.

"Oh yeah," Jeff replies, "but Rob told her not to waste her time."

"He actually said that?"

"Yep."

Gary S. laughs.

"Of course he would," he says, "Rob's from the old crew here in the warehouse. I'm surprised he has hired any women at all. The old supervisor used to have a rule - no women in the warehouse, and he stuck by it too. Now they're all over the place, but what can you do? Rob's in charge now!"

"So there used to be no women at all?" I ask.

"Nope. None. But you can tell they're here now. Look at all the crooked pallets," says Gary S.

I look around. Sure enough, all the pallets are crooked and uneven in the aisles.

"You can tell a fuckin' woman's been here just by looking at that," he adds with a laugh.

Gary S. drums out a short beat upon the case he's leaning on.

"So Jeff!" he says, "where's my cashews?"

"Well my friend," says Jeff, "lets go have a look."

Jeff and Gary S. walk toward the warehouse cooler. I squat down, pick up a case for the store order, lift it onto the skid. I finish building the pallet, place the required paperwork into an envelope and tape it to a case. I walk to the end of the aisle. The power jack is parked off to the side. I take hold of the steering column, spin the machine around, drive it into the pallet and manoeuvre the order under the racking. The pallet goes in crooked, and becomes jammed between another skid and some metal bracing. I remove the power jack, raise the forks, then accelerate it into the side of the skid at full speed. It hits hard, driving the pallet further into the racking. Splinters of wood from the pallet fly in all directions. A couple cases become squashed and lean off the edge. I look at it for a couple seconds. The whole situation is a complete mess.

"Forget it," I say aloud to myself.

I reverse the power jack, steer it down the aisle, and park it under the racking. I walk to the shipping office. The order forms for the next store are on a clipboard hanging from the wall. I pull them off, check them over, and walk off to pick the order.

Results

"Do you have enough room for 16 skids?" I ask.

The driver looks into his trailer.

"16 huh? I don't know," he replies, "you got a measuring stick?"

I pick up a broken board and hand it to him. He scrutinizes it for a moment then walks inside his trailer. Holding the board against the wall of the trailer, he methodically measures the amount of space he can afford.

"Load 'em sideways down the left, and straight in up the right," he says handing the board back to me.

I throw the board in behind some racking.

"Alright," I reply

I load the pallets sideways. It's simple but frustrating work. Most of the skids do not go in straight and need to be hit by the power jack and forced into place.

"That last one you loaded doesn't look to be in all the way," says the driver walking the length of the trailer.

"No it's not," I reply reversing the power-jack out of the way.

I squat down and try pushing the pallet with my hands. It doesn't move. The driver sits down against the side of the trailer and places his feet against the side of the pallet. He pushes forward with his legs. The pallet slides violently into place. The driver's boot buckles out somehow and kicks me behind the calf muscle. It's painful, but I say nothing, and neither does he. The driver gets up and walks away. I take the power-jack and continue loading.

The last skid goes in hard. I lower the power-jack and put it in reverse, but it does not move. I put the jack in reverse again, and crank the steering column back and forth. Nothing changes; the jack is interminably stuck within the pallet. The driver stands beside me and quietly examines the situation.

"The jack is jammed. It'll come out," I reply.

I turn the jack left, drive forward, then repeat the action in reverse. The jack comes free. The driver chuckles. I half smile.

"Wasn't looking too good there," says the driver.

I hand the driver the waybills. He fills them out and hands me the carbon copies. I say goodbye and walk back to the shipping office. I file the paperwork into it's proper tray. I look up through the shipping office window. Bruce is inspecting the power-jack. Todd is standing beside him. I leave the office and walk over to them.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

"There's something wrong with the wheel," says Bruce.

Todd accelerates the jack ahead a couple feet. The right front wheel drags, and leans to one side.

"The bolting is busted," says Todd.

"It got jammed as I was loading the truck. It must've happened then," I say.

Bruce takes the jack and steers it into a corner.

"Don't worry about it," he says, "these things happen to these machines. Just put a sign on it, and we'll get maintenance to look after it."

I head back to the shipping office. Todd runs up beside me.

"Wow! Some one's a fuckin' sweetheart around here," he says, "you bust a power-jack and all he says is 'these things happen'. What makes you so untouchable?"

"Results," I reply.

Human Cyclone

The large forklift doors to the Bulk Product Room fly open. They hit the wall with a sharp cracking sound. Todd drives the forklift through. A piece of cardboard is taped to the back of his jeans. It's cut into the shape of something, but I can't tell what it is. I stop packing, and turn to watch his act. He spins the forklift around in erratic circles, then jumps off and walks around the room doing a dead-on impression of Rob the warehouse supervisor.

"What the hell is on your ass?" I ask him.

"Oh this?" he says taking the piece of carboard off, "Rob gave it to me."

He walks over and hands it to me. I take the thing and look it over. It's a piece of cardboard cut into the shape of a pair of pants. It has cuffs, pockets, and a belt drawn on with a felt pen. Cut into the right hand "pocket" is a slit, and stuffed into that slit is a paper towel folded to look like a handkerchief. A small hole is cut/torn into where the ass would be.

"What's this for?" I ask pointing toward the paper towel.

"That's a little do-rag so Rob can wipe off while he's jamming his boy up the butt," Todd replies.

"Did Bruce see you wearing this?"

"Oh yeah! I drove by him doing this..."

Todd takes the "pants", holds them up to his face and sticks his tongue through the hole cut into the seat. He begins moaning and rubbing himself. I shake my head, take the tape gun, and begin packing product again. Todd removes the "pants" from his tongue, folds them, and stuffs them into a nearby garbage. He gets back on the forklift, fires it up, spins it in a couple circles and drives off.

I finish packing the order, and carefully stack the cases upon a skid. I take a pallet jack, push it into the skid, raise it, and begin pulling it toward the warehouse doors.

"Nelson!"

I stop the jack, and turn around. It's Todd. He's at the other end of the Bulk Product Room dropping a pallet from the top level of the racking. He signals me to come over. I push the jack into a corner of the room and walk down to meet him.

"What?" I ask.

"Watch this," he says lowering the forks and pointing toward the large forklift doors exiting into the 10000 lb melter area.

Streaming through the doors are lines of production ladies coming off lunchhour. Todd pulls the switch to the "forklift warning" light. A red light above the doors begins to flash. Several ladies cut through anyhow.

"Retards," Todd mutters.

He leans on the horn. The line of ladies coming through the doors stops moving. A small group them gathers just inside the doors. They have blank anxious looks on their faces. Todd drives the forklift forward, and hits the doors with the pallet on the end of the forks. The doors fly open, bang against the racking inside. He laughs, backs up, then repeats the move. Once again, the doors fly open.

"Hold on," he says, "don't go anywhere."

He turns the forklift swinging the pallet to the left, and then violently to the right. It collides with the doors. They fly open once more.

"Back it up," I tell him.

Laughing, Todd reverses the forklift. Several production ladies peer through the plastic windows built into the doors. They look for the forklift, then dart through the doors like refugees running from gunfire. The terror on their faces is comical, and serious. Todd blows the horn, holds it down for a few seconds. The ladies run in fear for the plant.

"You're lucky I'm the only one who just saw that," I say to him, "if any supervisor had seen that you would've been fired right on the spot."

"Oh no!" he replies.

I walk back to where I left the pallet jack. Todd puts the forklift in reverse and flies passed. He blows the horn a couple times.

"You aren't scaring me," I tell him.

He slides his glasses down the bridge of his nose, crashes through the warehouse doors and drives out into the warehouse.

15 Minutes

Bruce sits down at the lunch table. He places a large nylon lunchbag upon the table top. He has a styrofoam cup of coffee in his hand. He takes a sip then puts it down. The black surface of the drink shakes from side to side, almost spills over. Faint breaths of steam rise up.

"I wonder what the wife has prepared for me today," says Bruce opening his lunchbag and peering inside.

He begins removing items, inspecting them.

"Let's see... jelly sandwich, cookies..."

Bruce piles the items upon the table one by one.

"Grapes?" he says, "not again! I'm gonna have to fire that woman."

Bruce looks at me with a mischievous smile. I give a short, forced laugh. He opens up the plastic wrap of his sandwich and takes a bite.

"So Nelson," he says, "pick any orders yet today?"

"No, just packing," I reply.

"Well I want you to do some picking, get to know the product a little more. Jag..."

Jag looks up from the magazine she's been reading.

"What?" she asks.

"I want Nelson to do more picking okay. He needs to get more up to speed in the Bulk Product Room," says Bruce.

"Okay," she replies pushing her fork into a burrito and cutting off a piece.

I look over at Jag. She rolls her eyes and stabs the burrito. After a year of working at the company there is nothing more to learn about picking.

"Today's Tuesday right?" Bruce asks no one in particular.

"Yes," says Jag, "why?"

"It's my favourite TV night. I have The Amazing Race, CSI..."

Bruce counts out the programs on his fingers.

"It's a great night! My favourite! You guys been watching The Amazing Race?" he asks.

"I don't have a TV," I reply.

"No?" says Jag her eyes wide with surprise.

"I don't have much use for one," I tell her.

"Too bad for you," says Bruce, "it's a family edition, and it's real fun watching them trying to work as a team."

"My last TV broke, and I just didn't bother to replace it."

"You can get them pretty cheap these days," Bruce tells me.

"I just don't have any interest."

Bruce nods and finishes off his sandwich.

"It's probably a good thing," he says, "too much TV is bad for you."

I lean back in my chair, take a sip of water. Jag begins reading her magazine.

"Nope, not good for you at all," says Bruce quietly.

The door to the lunch room opens. James walks in. He rubs his face and hair frantically, then pours himself a cup of water from the cooler. He walks over to our table, sits down, says nothing. He looks like a rope drawn tight, almost to the point of breaking. He breathes heavily, and looks at each one of us without saying a word.

"Did you finish cleaning up the Christmas shipping area like I asked you?" Bruce asks him.

James nods, takes a sip of his water.

"So James," says Jag, "are you going to the Christmas party? Why don't you bring your girlfriend?

James looks over at her, hesitates to answer, then looks over at me and gives a slight grin.

"No," he mumbles.

"Why not?" asks Bruce.

"I'm just not that interested," James replies.

Bruce straightens his posture. He's annoyed with James' answer like a father would be annoyed at his son for not trying out for a school sport.

"You're missing a great opportunity," he admonishes.

"What kind of opportunity?" James asks.

"Well outside of it looking good, you get to see your fellow employees in a different light. You get to see them at another level. All we talk about is work here, but there you get to hear more about them and who they are."

James finishes off his water, crumples the cup in his hand.

"Come on James," says Jag, "you should go."

James picks at the cuts and torn flesh on his fingers.

"I'll go if Rob goes," he announces, "he hasn't gone to a Christmas party here for 15 years. If you get him to go then so will I."

"Alright then," says Bruce, "I'll get him to go."

"You'll get him to go? How are you gonna do that if he hasn't gone to a party in 15 years?" asks James.

"I'll just get him to go," replies Bruce.

James rolls his eyes.

"Okay," he says, "you get him to go then I'll go too."

I check my wristwatch; the lunch break is over. I take the hairnet out of my pocket and put it on. I stand up, push my chair in. Bruce looks up at me.

"Is it time to go?" he asks.

"Yes," I reply.

"Too short," he says standing up.

I walk to the garbage, toss out the refuse of my lunch. James throws his crumpled water cup. It bounces off my hand and into the open garbage. I turn and glare at him.

"Sorry," he says sheepishly.

Bruce walks passed us. He holds the door to the plant open. Jag slips through.

"You guys coming?" he asks.

I take the door.

"Thanks Bruce," I say.

"God... you guys are like a couple of women," he says walking through the plant to the warehouse.

I hold the door open for James. He steps through, and we walk through the plant. James kicks open the forklift doors to the warehouse.

"You going to the Christmas party?" he asks.

"Yes," I reply.

"You're not serious are you? Why?"

"Todd and I are going. He's wants to stir up shit and I want to see him do it."

"If he does, you'll burn for it with him."

"I don't care."

"I just don't want to waste my time. I can think of a hundred different ways I'd rather spend a Saturday night."

"You're right. It's like paying to go to work."

"Yeah, and that 'other levels' shit..."

"Who cares about other levels. I'm not looking to discover other people's levels. With Todd, the carnival's in town, and I just want to see that."

"You think he'll come through? I think he'll be a pussycat."

"He's planning on getting quite loaded."

James shrugs. The two of us reach the Plant Supplies desk. James stops. This is the area he is co-ordinating.

"I have other levels," says James, "but these people... I think what we see is what we get around here. How is a Christmas party going to change things?"

"Come on guys!" says a loud voice.

I look over. Bruce walks toward us. James quickly turns and goes back to his work.

"What are you doing?" Bruce asks.

"Fucking the dog," I reply turning and walking toward my locker.

"Whoa! Hold on a second," says Bruce.

I stop and turn toward him.

"I know I'm a nice guy, but you guys can't just stand around like that," he says.

"What? We can't talk to each other?" I ask.

"It's 4 minutes passed the hour. There's a limit to it. Just yesterday Rob talked to me about this."

"What did he say? That I talk too much?"

"No, but when he gets upset about things I hear about it. Shit rolls downhill. You know what I mean? Try and co-operate okay?"

"Okay."

I turn and walk toward my locker.

"Thanks Nelson," I hear him say.

"No problem," I reply.