There’s never been a moment when I cared to listen to what my supervisors had to say. I mean, what more is there to say on the subject of placing products on a shelf and throwing them up in the overhead? It’s so goddamn easy that I just throw on Chinese history podcasts while doing it. But I must admit, being able to simultaneously learn about Mao’s China and stack boxes like the capitalist drone I am may be quite difficult for most. Some people just don’t like working. Like this one guy who refuses to put his shit in the overhead if it doesn’t fit on the consumers’ shelves.
I’ve brought it up so many times in the meetings we have at 9pm that I’m now seen as a perpetual bitcher. It’s obvious why I’m bitching, yet no actions have been taken to stop his lethargic approach! Don’t we have cameras in here?
“Ron, all of our freight team completes the tasks we give them. I don’t understand what freight you’re seeing.”
Anthony. Probably the dumbest moron in America. A double moron. Yells when we aren’t moving fast enough. Does nothing when there’s actually things to complain about. Classic retail management.
“Look, I wouldn’t be complaining about it so much if it wasn’t happening. I’m not crazy and I’m not looking for a fight. I just want my floor clear. Isn’t putting freight in the overhead part of our job description? Being a part-timer doesn’t excuse you from doing the gig. Jesus Christ.”
“He’s bitchin’ again. I don’t have time for this. Can I go to garden?” asked the very person I’m chewing out.
“Sure,” said Anthony. “No more bickering. Grab your phones, no fuckin’ around, and just focus on your work Ron.”
…
Focus on your work Ron.
“What does he think I’ve been doing this whole time for the past three months?” I asked aloud. “Unbelievable…”
I checked the time on my phone and saw that it was 12:55AM. Doing well. My freight was organized and ready to be stacked in the overhead. Surprisingly, I didn’t have too many heavy boxes. Those cases of bleach sometimes weighed more than fifty pounds and just the thought of lifting them off the motorized ladder while 25 feet in the air gave me anxiety. I refused to become a cripple in this godforsaken warehouse.
“Freight team lunch time. Freight team lunch time.”
Thank the lord. For the next hour, I can go read and catch some shut eye for the remaining 5 hours in this hellhole. On my way to the break room I saw the person I refuse to name clocking out and dashing for the door. No one dashes like that in here unless they have a ton of freight they didn’t put away. Reluctantly, I quickly strolled to aisle 47 in the garden department to see what the fucker left behind… everything. That’s it.
I whipped out my phone and snapped as many photographs of the evidence as possible. There’s no way Anthony can say he did his job. If he disagrees, I swear I’ll break his nose.
Feeling satisfied with my forensics, I went back to the breakroom to take a nap. Quickly, I ran through the codes for my locker and pulled out my big headphones. Having these babies was a blessing. Especially if you didn’t want to hear the melancholic 80s music and what your supervisors had to say on the intercom. By the time I sat down and set up my favorite white noise on Spotify, I heard Anthony beginning to say something.
“Freight team! There’s been a—-”
Nope, I don’t care. Night rain and waking up at 2AM here I come.
I woke up well rested and in the blackest void. It took me a while to register that I was still in the breakroom. I checked my phone and saw that it was now ten minutes to 4AM. My God. I overslept. No one had the decency to wake me up?
The room was quiet. Eerie. I heard a droning sound permeating from the vents. Wow, I think that’s the first time I’ve heard the AC unit in this room. Something’s wrong.
I got up and used the flashlight from my phone to investigate the store floor. Just like in the breakroom it was pitch black. Not a soul in sight. No 80s music playing on the speakers. No workers. No Anthony. Just me in an empty warehouse 2 hours til’ opening to the public.
“Hello? Hello?”
I waited to hear an answer. I didn’t care who it was as long as it was one of my coworkers. The anticipation was chipping away at my mental state. I kept listening and heard the sound of a forklift. I knew the incessant beeping of those things from a mile away.
As I moved closer to where it was coming from I made sure to hug the shelving so that I wouldn’t get hit by its driver. The drivers damaged things with the lights on so there’s no telling what they’d do when it’s completely dark.
Right as I was turning the corner and saw red flashes coming from the forklift, I suddenly had the thought, “Why would they drive in the dark?”
Taking the extra precaution to hide myself in between two hung doors in the flooring department I observed the passing forklift and shined my light at the cockpit.
Immediately, I regretted it because in the cockpit was a two-headed man without eyes. Each head wore large headphones with terrible noise canceling. So I could hear what they both were listening to from the audio leakage. I hadn’t any idea on the name of the songs, but I knew that it was The Ink Spots. Any Fallout 3 fan could notice their style of singing.
At this point, I had no desire to investigate further. My only goal was to get out and never return.
Suddenly, garbling rang from the store’s intercoms. It was guttural like a deep howl coming from a person who’s been injured.
“FREIGHT TEAM BREAK TIME. FREIGHT TEAM BREAK TIME.”
Freight team break time? Oh no. Whatever “crew” is out here is about to be heading to the breakroom. And if they look like that two-headed monstrosity driving the forklift, I did not want to be seen. Since I was near flooring, I quietly made my way to the bath aisles and hid in the closed-in shower on display. Once all of them went to break, I’d make a run for the lumber door. It was always open on weekdays and from afar I could see the outside streetlights spread out along the floor.
Footsteps and dragging feet. Plopping and sloshing of something viscous. I could tell that whatever employees were in here weren’t of the crew or world I originated from. Again, my curiosity got the better of me and I shined my light on the mysterious crowd heading for the breakroom. Unfortunately I assumed the new night crew would be blind like that forklift driver. When the flash from my phone landed on the straggler at the back of the group, I observed that she had a head covered in eyes of varying sizes. Each pupil locked onto where I stayed and her lanky figure hobbled at a pace steady enough to not alert the blind. It was fight or flight, and I had no shame in fleeing.
With my cover now blown, I had no time to worry about what creatures were still lurking about. I needed to get to the lumber door. I dashed and dashed until I finally made it to the last aisle and there I could see sweet freedom. When I got to about halfway down, I could see a thin figure standing at the door. It raised a slender arm, thinner than wire and pressed the lumber door’s button. With each passing second, the streetlights were becoming less visible. No matter how fatigued I was or how afraid I was of the now alerted horde tripping over each other, I ran.
There was just enough room for me to slide under the lumber door and then it shut. I couldn’t breathe, but I was alive.
Content, I rushed to my car and drove off into the early morning.