It's what I get for stealing, I guess-- though
a few hours in a hospital seems stretching justice a bit. For what? A lens
filter? Somehow when I was unpacking boxes at work it wound up in my pocket.
The boss looked suspicious, pushing through the packing material as if he might
find it there. I wondered how to get rid of it. Getting caught would mean my
job. And though he moved back to the corner near his desk, I knew he was
checking the purchase order to see again how many came in. The camera turned
its untrusting eye towards me, winking its red light almost in jest.
I excused myself and went to the men's room
where I stuffed the thing in my sock. Not that they wouldn't find it, but it
made me feel better without its lump in my pocket.
"Mr. Sullivan," the boss said later.
"Pick up your things and come with me."
Defeated, I followed, my head bent, knowing my
job was lost. But he passed right by the security office and led me down to the
other end of the building, where he informed me of his plans.
"I need someone I can trust," he
said. "You're a good worker and can unload this truck without the usual
bull I get from my people."
Two hours later, as I pulled on a pallet jack,
removing pallets load with cases of motor oil, disaster struck. The first
pallet came down the warped mental plate from the truck, but with the second my
foot slipped and two tons rolled over it, trapping my toes in the bed.
"Get it off!" I yelled. The pain
wasn't terribly great. But I heard the crack of toes breaking and the
shattering of the lens filter in my sock.
"Where did you get these scratches
frokm?" the doctor asked at the hospital, after taping up my broken toes.
"I scraped it on the dock," I said,
though by his frown I could see he didn't believe me.
No comments:
Post a Comment