Monday, August 06, 2007

I Could Do That Job...

As much as I adore the "ol' gravy train" of workin' for my folks, I know that there's always the chance that I might have to find a "real job" someday. I'm almost always on the look out for potential "real jobs."

A few weeks ago, our You Pea Ess (Go0gle-proof) guy lost his job. Pat was a good guy, always real warm & friendly, and I hope he's doin' okay. The story I heard was that he'd turned in paperwork to report that the park brake wasn't holding and the truck needed to be fixed; they sent him back out with it anyway, and it rolled into a fence after he'd climbed out to deliver a package.

Apparently, if you crash a "big brown truck," you're instantly fired on-the-spot; as in "you better call somebody and see if you can get a ride home."

Now, this other freight company, there's some people I wouldn't mind workin' for. I get the impression they'd hire anybody and never fire 'em for anything. This guy smashed the unholy shit out of our ten-by-twenty overhead door a few years back, but he's still workin' for 'em. It's not like he's their "Miss America" and puttin' on a real nice visual representation either -- I'd guess he ain't seen a razor or a toothbrush since sometime around the Nixon administration; some say you can tell by the smell, but I try not to inhale when he's around. Go to work unwashed and get away with anything? Suh-weet!

Well, today while I was waiting to get the Windstar back out of the building, he showed up with a Ranger Passenger Side Airbag. Now, granted, it's a little bigger than a driver's side airbag, but still, the box was only just a bit bigger than a shoebox. The invoice from the freight company says it's seven pounds. So, roughly estimating, it's a box just a bit bigger but just a bit lighter than my purse. I know, I know, my purse is insane, but hey, it works for a point of reference.

I really didn't think that something that close to the size of my purse (the Dooney Cabrio-Leather Satchel that's been with me for a little over a year now is sort of a medium-to-large-ish sized bag) would merit backing a twenty-foot box truck into that same overhead door that he'd missed/damaged a few years back. I really-really didn't think something that size would merit using the lift-gate on the back of that truck either, but apparently, it did. I'm completely serious, he unloaded that seven-pound box (and his own happy ass, from what I could tell) with the lift-gate just like they use to unload major appliances like washers and dryers and refrigerators.

My Mom (who's 67 and freshly back-to-work after having major abdominal surgery) was standin' there beside me and I figured it would be a good bet to grab the box myself just in case it was too much weight. I stood there holding the box while "Ol Filthy" and My Mom each signed their respective areas of the invoice, atop the box which was in my very hands.

Did I mention that I held the box for 'em both to sign the paperwork on top of it? Okay, just making sure I was clear there.

After signing, Mom offered to take the box, and I said "Are ya sure it's not too heavy for ya?"

As Mom took the box and headed back toward the office with it, "Ol Filthy" looked me straight in the eyes as if he wondered what kind of idiot I was, laughed at me, and then said "It's only seven pounds!"

No shit? I didn't just have it in my hands or anything, now did I?

Ever have one of those moments where you can feel your own power to make somebody see what an asshole they are? That's how I felt right then, I had the power. Calling "Ol' Filthy" by his own first name straight off his dirty shirt, I couldn't help but throw back a "Well, I just had it in my hands, didn't I ______, I know it's only seven pounds, but Mom's not well."

My Mom would probably kick my ass if she knew I'd pulled somethin' like that... But oh well, I still believe it's part of our job to stand up for our own, and on top of that, I still don't do well with bein' called "the stupid one."

More later... _\,,/

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