The Way We Speak

The warehouse is alive and hectic with midday noise. The sound of trucks unloading echoes throughout the building. Some one shouts my name. I do not listen. I sort through torn pallet tags and scribbled notes, and continue writing down product transfers. The bright light of a flourescent bulb shines down. I cap my pen and put it in my pocket. A forklift pulls up. I'm tired, and I don't want to talk, but I turn anyway.

"What's up?" Kevin S. asks from the perch of his lift.

"Not much. I was really busy there for awhile," I reply tossing several papers into a recycling tote.

"You see the crowd out front for the hiring fair?"

"No. A good crew?"

"Let me put it this way: No white people."

"Oh."

Kevin S. nods and then steps on the dead man pedal. The forklift comes alive.

"It's going to be a fun Christmas," He putting the lift in reverse and speeding off.

* * * * *

"What's that Russian word Sergei that means a dirty dick that has fucked every dirty fucking hole known to man?" Todd asks.

Sergei smiles and laughs and tells us the word. I lean down onto the counter of the shipping office. I scribble my weekly hours onto the timesheet.

"And what's that other word you told me? That means son-of-a-bitch?" Todd continues.

Sergei repeats the word for Todd.

"That's it! Does it mean son-of-a-bitch?"

"No. It means asshole, son-of-a-bitch, and nigger all rolled into one," says Sergei.

Todd laughs. I hand the timesheet pencil to Sergei. He begins filling in his hours.

"I love the Russian language," says Todd.

* * * * *

John pushes the cart. He pushes hard, and then lets go. The cart crashes into some empty racking. I walk over, and look at the cart. Several boxes of product lay stacked haphazardly upon it.

"What's up with this?" I ask pointing toward the cart.

"That's the online store's product," John replies taking hold of the power jack.

"Are they returning it? When did they order it? Yesterday?"

"Yep, they ordered it yesterday, and now they're returning it today. A complete fucking waste of my time!"

John steers the power jack into the back of his truck. I walk toward the cart and steer it into a corner under the racking. John comes out pulling a skid of boxes.

"Does Sergio still run the online store?" I ask.

"Yes, he does," John answers.

"That guy's a fool. I don't know why they have him running it. He's a complete fuck-up. He's always ordering product, and then returning it the next day."

John stops the power jack.

"Yeah I know. It's because the guy's a 'Can," he says.

"A 'Can? What the hell is a 'Can?"

"A Puerto Ri-Can, A Mexi-Can. The guy's a fuckin' wetback."

"Well, he's definitely an incompetent ass."

John nods, steers the power jack into his truck and continues unloading.