As the cloying warmth that is dispatch reembraces James, he sees a sign no mere dock boy should have to deal with a slathering horde of impatient costumers ten, fifteen nay even twenty deep. "Well fuck......." softly exclaims James as he starts to take orders,
The first one is for the changeover of a wooden chair, "what was the issue with it?" inquiredJames "its broken obviously "Stated a human blob standing just short of 5:5 and looks to weigh 100 kg "I see and how exactly is it broken" James looks at the chair with no legs on it "It can't be built the legs don't screw in" looking at the chair James can clearly see where the man has put the back legs on the front of the chair and stripped the bolts, having a throbbing headache due to his head injury and quite frankly better, well at least he hopes better things to do then argue with the blob he decides to re don his safety harness and just get the man a new chair.
As James untangles the ungodly mess that is his harness he looks over the dock, Steven is trying to pretzel a dining table and eight chairs into a hatch back whilst being repeatedly told it'll fit and be careful of the car as they don't want him to damage it and Dutch another co-worker has a pile of 20 cheap metal stools out for another customer who assures him they are all scratched and he wants them perfect as he has just bought them brand new ignoring the fact he payed less than ten dollars per stool.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
With the bucklesfinally tightened on his harness he clips onto the stock picker as he stands on the platform he stumbles feeling slightly woozy from his injury , re cementing his footing he grabs the pistol grip control panel for the machine and guides it into the racking, Half way down he stops and guides the machine to the second level to grab a new chair as there two in a box he grabs the world's most useless invention a Penguininstead of letting grown men use knifes, Stanley knives or even scissors we have penguins a mutated hunk of plastic with small razor blades made so you can't get a finger in there or even change it so its blunt after a week. Now armed with his deadly tool of box destruction he unclips from the stock picker and walks into the bay, having to stop as he's to tall to stand up right, he opens a chair box extracting one chair he accidently stands thrusting his head and wound straight into the cross beam above him.