Well obviously unless ya been livin’ under like a rock or something, ya know that my brother Hal moved out west to seek his fortune in the entertainment industry. I get a call from him every few days askin’ how things are goin’ here at the shop, seeing as how he left me in charge of the Shipping Department in his absence. Honestly I don’t think Phil’s even come down here to find out whether Hal still works here or not.
But irregardless of that fact, the matter of shipping still must go on, and now it’s up to me to make sure that every pallet, package, skid, and truckload is handled with the same aplomb that my brother would have levied on it. So I dig in. And right in time, as it turns out.
For reasons known only to the universe and some pasty-white geek up in Corporate who really oughta get out more, we do a tremendous amount of sales right around Easter. I mean like huge. Like I shipped as much last week as the entire month of March, that kinda huge. So when Rachel wanders down last week with her red audit-pen and clipboard in her little manicured fingers, I was not in the mood to hear about what was “in a state of noncompliancy” and whatnot. But she’s got the attention of someone at Corporate (probably the same egghead who won’t tell me why we ship so much in April), so I gotta give her my attention or she’ll get Tom on my ass. And what I do not need on the busiest ship day of the quarter is more of somebody else’s problems.
So she comes in and starts asking for all these evidentiary items like proof that I follow the rules and stuff. And this is me, right? I mean there cannot possibly be evidence that I followed all the rules,’cause I got a job to do and all, and if I followed all the rules all the time it wouldn’t get done! You know what I’m sayin’? But she won’t leave until she gets all this documentation, so I’m rootin’ around through Hal’s files until I come across this red folder with writing on it saying “In case of Rachel being a jerk, here’s the thing you need.”
Well it looks like my big bro thought of everything. I take the file and just hand it to her, sight unseen. She snaps it out of my hand, opens it, and (I kid you not) mid-sentence, stops, politely hands it back, and says to me, “I think everything down here in Shipping is in order,” and walks out. It’s a freakin’ shipping miracle!
Now since I know you’re wonderin’, I’ll mention that no, I didn’t look in the file folder. I figure whatever’s in there, if it’s strong enough stuff to put a cork in Rachel’s pie-hole, I don’t need to know about it. I mean, who’s gonna look a gift Hal in the mouth, so to speak? Not me, that’s for sure.
Besides, I got shipping to do.
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