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turning cheek

11 March 2006 - 19:02

My fingertips are slightly damp from sweat. My eyes burn. I feel like shit.

Hm. Indeed.

Yesterday was, again, one of the worst days I've had at UPS. Got home after three in the morning. My arms are sore as shit right now. But more than anything, I'm sad. Yup, sad. Very sad. Because it was one of those days, yesterday, when I realized there is no "I" in team, and "I" apparently don't fit in mine. I felt rejected.

Denise got on my nerves for the first time since she started working there, which is logical, as everyone there's gotten on my nerves before, and I was expecting this. What I wasn't expecting, though, was me taking a swing at the back of Aaron's head.

Day started as it usually does, with me getting there early, but not unwanted. Ruben sees me and pounces on me, telling me that Juan really needs my help back there, there's a couple of more multiples from Symbol Technologies that came in, so please go back there and help Juan put stickers on them. I get to Juan and it turns out it's just one large multiple of - get this - 556 boxes! Not the largest I've seen, but not an everyday occurance either. The largest I've done has been seven-hundred-eighty-something last year. Not a fun gig, let me tell ya, and not something I was looking forward to repeating with this large multiple bitch of a shipment. But hell, work is work, so stop your moping, G-Unit, and hop in the sweltering trailer and help your coworker. Fine. Done, a'ight? Juan and I set to work, with Juan gasping and wheezing occasionally due to his sinuses. But hell, he's trying, gotta give him that much. The rest of the team starts to show up. Denise, right on time; Zamira, ten minutes late and blushing with apologies. We all set to work, the four of us, and we get a pretty good rythm going. By the time the Sort starts, we've got over half the shit in the trailer covered. Piece a cake, buddy.

Except that Aaron doesn't show up. Inwardly, I give an exasperated sigh. God damn, here we go again! I think, and shake the sweat out of my eyes, wipe my face on my t-shirt sleeve. I think he's gonna end up arriving half an hour, maybe forty-five minutes late, but the time rolls around, and the kid has yet to show. I'll admit, I started to get worried.

Conversation in my head went something like:
SVL: Dude, I've still got his CD.
BB: I hope he's alright...
YANG: He's gotta be, he's pulled this shit before, remember? Nah, don't worry about him, he'll be alright.
NINJA: He better be! He can't do this shit to me; he can't leave me waiting! Not the way...
SVL: Ok, shut up now, I don't want to remember this now. Get back to work.
YANG: I'm telling you, he'll be fine! You're making a big deal over nothing.
POLLA: Oh, but Yang! What if he got hurt in a car accident or something? Or got locked out of his house again? Or...
PIOJO: That's enough. Concentrate.

He shows up alright. Over an hour late, I hear his voice, distant and a bit slurry. My eyes grow wary. I've heard the kid talk this way before. I grind my teeth and straighten up. Beside me in the dim trailer, Juan does the same, flicking the sweat off his brow and turning in the direction of Aaron's voice.

Long story short, he's drunk. Again. And they put him to work with me in the trailer. It's later on that night that I take a swing at him, with every full intention of making crunching contact with his skull. I was fully geared up with my rings and splikey finger armor by then, might I add. But I won't go into details here. It hurts to. Aside from the physical pain my arms are going through right now, I mean. Shit, it's just that... you'd think the kid would learn! But no, I digress, I digress...

In the end, I guess it's a good thing I didn't hit Aaron. I would've gotten fired on the spot. And I wasn't about to lose my job over that kid, even though Lord knows I would've hit him if it hadn't been for Zamira, the sweet thing. Because of her, I stopped myself. And that kid is none the wiser.

Dud says I should report his ass to higher management, but she doesn't understand that even after all the drunken shit he told me after the Sort, despite the bitterness and jealousy I saw flicker in his eyes that night... I can't. I can't do it. Not to him. He may hate me, deep down, and only let it show in drunken stupors like this one, but I don't hate him. To me, Aaron is still the coworker I get along with best. Because really, he is a cool guy once he's good and sober. He's a good kid. He just ain't worth shit. But we were hired together, he and I, we've been in this shit, juntos, from the start, from that lukewarm morning way back almost a year ago in May. We both endured Mr. Prahbakar's harsh and rushed training. He's... he's just my bro' is all. I couldn't do that to him, even though I know he'd be the first to turn around and turn me in for any little shit, just to save his own ass. Yes, I know I'm an idiot, that he doesn't deserve this confused rant I'm spewing out right now. But I just can't bring myself to change the way I am, the way I think or feel for the kid. Because I tell myself I'm just being the better person, by not being a whiny little snitch and all.

In the end, though, I know I'm just being the bigger idiot.

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