Fateful Acceptance

He waited anxiously near the sales counter for the man to come get him. He had never worked in a retail environment. He was unsure of what they would expect of him. He was nervous around people. He was not dressed to be a sales clerk. He might not be able to keep his word to Brittany. Grayed and hobbling with arthritic knees, the man finally came. “Morning. I was hoping you’d get here sooner,” the man grunted, his voice filled with frustration. His eyes widened and his throat squeezed around his voice box. He knew the man was already dissatisfied. Brittany would not find him another assignment. He would have to find a new agency - and hope the temporary agencies didn’t talk to one another, compare notes on employees. Barely audible, he said, “I just got my assignment.” It was an excuse that he knew the old man would disallow, but he believed it should be said. “Hmmph! So you did. Follow me and we’ll get you started.” He followed as close as he dared. The old man’s gait was unsteady, a tribute to the fact that the old legs seemed to lack full strength. The man couldn’t walk a straight line. He didn’t want to step on the man’s heels and be the cause of a fall. They stopped on an open air loading dock at the back of the building, far away from the retail floor. The dock was located at an alley entrance. A forty-eight foot trailer was backed to the dock at an angle. The driver already had the doors open and was struggling to place a dock plate in a safe position between the angled trailer and the dock. The angle made it difficult. The alley was too narrow to allow the truck to approach the dock squarely. The plate was stout aluminum deck plate, sturdy enough to support an electric pallet jack with a fully loaded pallet of product. The precarious setting of the dock plate would not allow safe use of a pallet jack. Even he, without previous experience unloading trailers, could see that the task would require hand carrying every box from the trailer. “Here’s your lumper,” grunted the old man to the driver. The driver scoffed. “He’s your lumper. You aren’t paying me to fingerprint the load, just deliver it.” The old man snarled and muttered, “Damn drivers. Expect more than they’re worth. Boy, I expect you to unload this in six hours or less. That’s what the bastard expects me to pay him to do it.” The man motioned him to follow into the warehouse. Sun deprived fingers pointed to a large open area. “Stack them in this area, on pallets so we can move them with a jack. Separate them by pallet. Do you think you can do that without messing it up too bad?” His throat still did not want to cooperate. He nodded his head and croaked, “Sure.” He tried to clear his throat so he could speak, to no avail. The old man snorted and snarled, “At least you won’t be wasting time talking. Get to it. It’s only six hours; you shouldn’t need a lunch break.” He watched the old man disappear from view, still barely staying upright. Back at the trailer, he tested the dock plate while the driver smirked. The heavy aluminum diamond-plate material was sturdy enough, but it teetered on two opposing corners. When he walked across it, the two other corners exchanged places as a third point of contact. It teetered badly. It was not going to fall. It was safe, but the teetering gave the impression of impending doom. He would have to keep his wits – and balance - about him so that he didn’t overreact to the tilt and throw himself and his cargo off the dock plate. The driver watched him for a few minutes then retreated to the tractor cab. He was glad the driver left. Being watched added to his anxiety. Afraid that he would not satisfy the old man, he worked at a feverish pace. The boxes were not heavy - mostly paper goods - but they were plentiful; the trailer was cubed to the maximum. Occasionally, a store employee came and took a box from his stacks after he set them in neat order. They didn’t seem to be concerned that he was trying to be neat and keep count. They didn’t seem to recognize him at all. They didn’t care. He was not part of their team. He was just glad the old man didn’t ask him to inventory the contents of the trailer as he unloaded it. He was told to separate the boxes by product identity, so he counted them anyway … the old man may have forgotten to tell him to do it. The last box was the hardest; not because it was heavier or bigger, but because he was exhausted. He pushed himself. With no clock anywhere to be seen, he had no idea what time it was or how much time had passed since he arrived. Occasionally, employees came to stand on the dock and smoke, but they didn’t acknowledge him as they hurriedly inhaled and exhaled the tobacco smoke, and nothing they said to each other indicated time of day. The old man was very clear that the job must be completed in less than six hours; that was all that mattered. He had no choice but to satisfy the man, to satisfy Brittany’s client, to satisfy Brittany. Making Brittany happy was the most important thing in his world on that particular day. He knocked on the cab of the truck. The driver sleepily answered the knock. He told the driver that he was finished. The driver slowly climbed from the cab and walked to the back of the truck to close the doors. “Why didn’t you move the dock plate?” the driver groused. “I didn’t know if it was yours or not,” he replied lamely. He knew he needed help to move the plate away from the truck. He had tried to lift one corner of it without success before he went for the driver. His muscles were flittering, nearly exhausted. And he was thirsty. He had sweated out too much fluid in the early autumn heat. He did not see a restroom anywhere near. The two of them wrestled the plate back onto the dock. At one point it wobbled, almost escaped their grasp, but because of the driver’s burly build and strength, they successfully completed the task. He heard an employee in the dimly lit warehouse. He walked toward the noise. He needed to find the old man so he could complete the assignment … and find his way out of the building to his car. He needed to report back to Brittany, if the office was still open. “Hello. Where is the man who brought me back here?” he asked of a young woman. She was pretty with brown hair and bent forward at the waist over one of his pallets. The woman was startled. She barely smiled at him when she raised and turned to face him. She didn’t recognize him as an employee; he was not wearing the uniform or a badge, but she knew someone was hired to empty the trailer. He was staring at her backside. “I’ll tell him you’re looking for him. Just wait here.” She completed her task, aware that he was watching her every move. Shortly after she left, the old man came for him. The old man smiled, an apparently unpracticed expression, and nodded appreciation. “Good job, Boy. I didn’t think you could do it. Is that damn driver gone?” “I think so.” “Think so? What in Hell am I paying you for?” The old man walked across the warehouse toward the dock door. He didn’t understand why the old man asked the question or made the comment. He was being paid to unload a truck. That was made perfectly clear. He even counted the boxes. He didn’t know he was supposed to monitor the driver’s actions. He had failed to satisfy the old man; he had failed his assignment. His throat tightened again and he had no spit to even try to lubricate his vocal cords. He followed the old man. With relief, he heard the diesel tractor accelerate as it pulled out of the alley into traffic on the main street.