The week was about par for the course. Massive progress on the baghouse, dastardly bout with dehydration, and written up today for speeding on a forklift. I think I was doing like 8 in a 5. Sometimes I forget I’m union labor, and put the job ahead of the pissant rules. Well, today the safety manager saw me, and had a genuine conniption fit.
Let me step back a minute. Earlier this week I read that they found that the same virus that causes the common cold causes obesity. Something about human stem cells turning to fat cells when contacted by the cold virus. I mentioned this at work and so its become all the rage to ask people that are rotund if they aren’t feeling well. This likely as not has something to do with my speeding ticket, as the midget that busted me is quite round.
So anyway, I’m sweating like a pig, and as I said flying down the main driveway at work. I’d say my hair was blowing in the breeze, but I was doing 8. It’s like 99 degrees, and this micro peckerhead comes out of his air conditioned office for the first time in at least two weeks and screams in his best falsetto for me to stop. I hear what sounds like a bird being attacked with a weedwhacker, and fearing I have managed to run over something while doing 8 I stopped. This allowed tiny mighty mo to take the 475 steps required to traverse the 20 or so feet between he and I.
I get down off the lift, and remove my mask and hearing protection so that I can hear the banal crap spewing from his fat wobbling face. He’s literally yelling incomprehensibly at me. I hold up my hand in the international gesture to shut the fuck up, and for whatever reason he did so. I then inquired as to whether he would like me to get him a step stool so he could scream at me face to face. I’m not sure why but this appeared to push the pudgy little fellow from irate to livid, and with a loathsome squeal that I should not move he turned and sprinted as fast as his 18″ long legs would carry him back to his office where apparently he called my supervisor.
My supervisor is not a bad guy, but I fear he is tiring of my unique ability to piss off anyone within a 50 foot radius. He strides up with that long suffering look on his face and informs me that I shall now shut the hell up and accompany him to the little turds office. I’m good with that. I do that even.
The first words out of my bosses mouth when we walk in the office are “damn phil, are you not feeling well?” I manage not to laugh, but the grin was unstoppable. Apparently phil knew what that was all about, and asked me to “wait outside.” Again, being the always eager to obey sort I did as I was asked. I went outside, hopped on the lift, and continued doing what I was doing. Apparently the weeble meant wait right outside his office, and this was made clear to me 1.5 hours later when I came down for break. He never did give me a straight answer as to why he didn’t come get me. Either his legs were to short for the stairs, or he knew I would throw him off.
Anyway, to make a long story short I am no longer allowed to drive forklifts until I have undergone some “intensive retraining.” This will occur when hell freezes over of course , because there is no way in hell that little cocksucker is getting me into a forklift driving class for doing 8 in a 5.