Well I suppose it’s a job by Michael Keeble


Well I suppose it’s a job

I know there are a lot of people that don’t have a job at all and are reliant on handouts from wherever they can get it, but at this time of the year working in the warehouse is just madness.  I bet you think that we have one of those warehouses where everything is sorted on conveyors and things; packages flying at high speed and diverting by size and barcode ready to be delivered to the right place by the right person.  Well think again.  For a start we only have one delivery driver and he’s the boss.  He won’t let us have any of this labour saving equipment.  He says “We’ve managed to do without it all the years I’ve been doing this job so we can manage for a few more years until I can’t do it any more”.  What does he know, he doesn’t have to sort the stuff into regions and loads, he just does the deliveries.  Us guys in the warehouse reckon that the delivery bit is the best bit; at least you would see places, but we never see anything in the windowless warehouse, and at this time of the year it is a full 24 hour shift without any breaks.  
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“We have an obligation to get this stuff out” he says “our reputation depends on it.”  

His reputation depends on it, he means. No one even knows we exist.  But he’s the boss so we do what we are told.

He’s all loaded up ready for the first delivery, but we’re still rushing around getting all the stuff ready for the next one.  He’ll have delivered that first one in about half an hour – I have to give him that, he’s quick and never makes a mistake (or so he says), but he’ll want the next one ready to load as soon as he gets back, and he’ll want it loaded in less than ten minutes.  It’s bad enough while he’s out, but as soon as he is back it is utter bedlam.  He just sits there on his fat backside while we warehouse guys scurry around at top speed loading him up.  As soon as he’s full he’s off again and we rush around getting the next load ready.  

He’s not a bad boss I suppose, and he’s no spring chicken.  I wonder how he keeps going.  Of course if he didn’t, we wouldn’t bother.  Sometimes I find myself hoping that he won’t come back for a new load so that I can get a rest, but he comes back every time without fail.  To be fair to him by about halfway through the shift he looks absolutely exhausted but as soon as we have loaded, he is back out delivering.

Once we have loaded the last batch and he’s left, we all creep off to the nice warm beds that he provides for us, and  pretty much fall asleep immediately.  When the boss gets back he must be at least as exhausted as us, but he always performs one more important task before he too gets some sleep.  He never accepts any help, telling us that we should rest.  Not until he has rubbed down each of the reindeer, fed and bedded them down does he finally allow himself to sleep.

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