When I was in my 20’s I had a factory job. It was in a dusty, dank, endless warehouse of conveyers stacked to the ceiling and open concrete spaces where trucks and package cars would pull in and out, like bugs back to the hive and away again.
I used to hump heavy boxes, loading and unloading trailers from top to bottom, throwing them on a belt and watching them disappear. After graduating from loading I became a damaged goods clerk (how fitting) and became privy to many of the contents that civilians and corporations ship alongside each other across the nation or the world. Oh the stories! Tales of the unimaginable that I’m wary to share in certain company, let alone be posted in cyberland for as long as we have electricity.
The other damage clerks were mostly women, older mom types, some were slightly wild, some were weird and narrow minded, but one thing was understood: They were tough, blue collar broads.
One day I awoke and looked around and realized that my life just wasn’t interesting enough so I decided to date a girl from work, and she soon filled a position in my department.
When I am confident in an environment I will be slightly wild, weird, and instead of narrow minded, my mouth tends to rattle a bit. All sorts of strange stuff sometimes falls out so this job taught me 2 things:
1) Dating someone you work with may work out as great as you thought, and 2) jokingly saying you’d bring a gun to work to a paranoid, blabbermouth, neglected wife may not be as great for work as you thought.
That day, my girlfriend stressed me out and I happen to accidentally put a box through one of the company windows.
Let the record show that I DID NOT intentionally put a package through the window. I did, however, chuck that sumbitch ‘cross the room like a Romanian shot putter and it just happened to go through the window. And I would never bring a gun to work. Possibly to the store, though…I kid, I kid. (See? something as silly as that statement, man, you’d think I learned!) Seriously, none of the guns at my house are mine, anyway.
It’s called Peaceful Pistol. It’s not called Weird Introvert Writes Things That Need To Be Red Flagged By The Government.
Back to the story: I was then reprimanded, assessed and notified that I was either to have a psychiatric examination or be terminated so I wisely chose the termination. I spent 5 years there working, aching, drinking and carousing in a grimy factory on an island. I almost became a lifer where work, bitching, pension and death would have been all planned out for the next 30 years.
Collective “Whew,” from both the company and I.