May 4, 2021
Sergeant K
The point of not working is to appreciate working more. The Field is funny because I always appreciate working and the three of us are pretty tightknit. Indeed, I texted them while lounging on the sand. PFC gave me some amazing texts while I was gone, keeping me abreast of the happenings in case I longed for stories. I frightened Private Ryan that Aaron Rodgers wanted a trade. It was the best of times.
We are down to 1 tape gun because Private Ryan gave one to a crackhead.”
PFC Text, Tuesday
When interviewed about this decision, he stated that he was actively trying to not judge a book by its cover. PFC assures me that it was obvious this individual was on a drug of some kind. (We deal with this a fair amount. One time we had a person who was actively trying to climb the walls on the inside of the store. Not, like, climbing on counters. Just the bare walls.)
The person just needed a bit of tape so he decided to give them the tape while still on the gun. “Now, I’m going to need this back,” he said.
“Yes, you’ll have it back tomorrow,” the person said.
We are still without said tape gun. The part of this story that I focus on isn’t so much that he was trying to be kind and nonjudgmental; my focus is why he gave them one of the GOOD tape guns. We have this very old blue one that still works but is more of a Ford Pinto compared to the Cadillac of the other two.
Isn’t it fun to read a blog that links to tape guns? Oh well. Bet you had no idea they made “Top Gun” models that cost $33, did you? Wait til I tell you about Quiet Tape. Literally marketed as “Unwinds like butter.” The worst part is that this is actually pretty accurate.
Anyway, he said he wasn’t thinking and I said I am pretty sure he can write this off as a charitable donation.
Also he had to cut down a box yesterday and it was full of all different kinds of sex toys, so you can imagine how that went.”
PFC text, again on Tuesday
This was just cruel for me to miss.
We cut down boxes for people because dimensions matter and we can make their shipment cheaper. Apparently, this civilian brought in three half-full boxes so Private Ryan helpfully offered to combine them into one box and cut it down.
I am 100% positive that he began combining them and had transferred at least four or five things before realizing what they were. “They told me to be careful with the bunny,” he told me yesterday, shell shocked. “I just thought it was a stuffed animal. I had no idea.” He paused. “At least the rest were in baggies.”
Two years ago, someone came in to ship a “mascot uniform” for cleaning and Private Ryan had begun asking them questions as he is wont to do. (PFC and I know enough to not ask questions unless I’m short on Report material for the day.) By the end, it was apparent that the costume was for a Furry convention. He had never heard of Furries, of course, so I attempted to educate him. Then he walked around discussing “Fuzzies” for a good six months.
This would have rivaled that but alas. I did not get the joy of first-hand viewership.
Customer of the Day!
PFC and I were at the counter and Private Ryan was, I believe, eating a chocolate bar behind the shelving when a customer walked in and began yelling, “Is there a man here?”
PFC and I eyeballed each other, wondering if we heard him correctly. Before we could decide, he yelled again. “Where are the guys? The men? I need a man to help.”
My initial response, because I’m just like this, was to ask if he was in desperate need of someone to pee standing up with him.
Sensing I may be on the verge of saying that, the chocolate eating man came out from behind the shelves.
“Oh there you are!” the main exclaimed, relieved. “I need you to come lift something for me.”
PFC and I laughed out loud as Private Ryan gave us a look on his way out like, “I’m a feminist, too. I know you could do this. Don’t forget that. And don’t openly be total assholes about this until after he’s gone.”
He has a very expressive face.
He retrieved the box from the car, carrying it in without effort, and the customer followed him back in because he needed to actually ship it.
How much did it weigh?
26 pounds.
PFC and I can individually lift 26 pounds with one hand without issue. This made it even funnier of course.
Private Ryan began organizing the shipment. (We assumed he’d want a man to do that, too, unless this was when we secretaries would take over.) In the middle of this, PFC and I took turns carrying things to the back, making sure we left anything over 25 pounds for the man in charge and making sure he knew we were leaving it for him.
“Did you know oranges used to come in crates?” the customer started. “Kids these days have no idea how good they have it.”
This is, to my knowledge, the first time any person has used that cliché in relation to oranges. I could be wrong, but I feel pretty confident.
He began running through other produce and groceries, always indicating that the medium by which they were transported made his experiences more difficult than what “kids” now have to deal with. Milk. Apples. Meat. Pie. It was a fever dream of food stories.
He stayed for at least five minutes telling Private Ryan a litany of “back in my day” tales that were unlike anything we’d ever heard. When he finally got to living with eleventy billion siblings in a two-room shack, I was relieved because that made sense in the generational comparison chart.
It still had nothing to do with his shipment, by the way. I think that was some kind of car part.
I look forward to my future wherein I will lament how oranges used to come in boxes and kids these days with their drone-delivered oranges have no idea how good they have it.
Later, a woman came in and asked one of us to help her with a package. “How much does it weigh?” we asked.
“It’s 120 pounds,” she said.
“Definitely a man’s job then,” I responded and she literally responded with, “I don’t know. You two (PFC and me) look pretty strong.”
God bless.
Colonel C
Vacations are nice and everything, but I basically missed the dogs by the time we got to Illinois. It was so rewarding to be home and reminded me how much I like never leaving the house.
Still questioned Sergeant taking one of my recently-washed masks to work with her yesterday. She looked at me with the face of, “Do you really want to do this while I count on one hand the number of times you’ve seen the outside world in the last two years?”
She and Private Ryan have faces that convey entire paragraphs. It’s unnerving.
I do wonder, though, what snarky things Sergeant would have said had a man not been present to help with the 26 pounds. These people have no idea the bullets they dodge sometimes.
