Working in the Warehouse

Before I begin, let me ask...does anyone remember that store The Wherehouse?? They sold music and movies, just like Sam Goody and Musicland. Wait!! Do Sam Goody and Musicland exist anymore, either?? Maybe Tower Records caused those stores to fold. Or maybe they absorbed them. But isn't Tower really far in the red? Where people getting their music and movies? It can't all be from the Internet. Oh yeah...Wal-Mart. Ugh.

I have a great deal of respect for my ex-girlfriend. She's down-to-Earth and 99% honest. At her job she deals with bigots no the phone who don't know what color her skin is and she has a great deal of pride and tolerance for others. That said, I think there is a liquid quality to her life; it is constantly changing. She's the Larry Brown of smoking-hot chicks...antsy at the proposition of staying in one place too long. It's evidenced in many parts of her life but perhaps most interestingly in her MSN Messenger Screen Name. It must change every day. Can someone do a study on this? Can the frequency of one's screen name changes be linked to the impermanence of one's life? Did I use the correct word there? Or maybe I'm still looking for an excuse for our breakup. Dammit.

!!Special message for 21-27 year-old Seattle area women!! -- Don't be alarmed by breakup laments. Ice Climber is redoubling his efforts to meet you! He can be found cruising Brooklyn, Roosevelt and University avenues on weekdays and in downtown Seattle on weekends! But wait!! You can increase your chances of meeting Ice Climber in person simply by clicking the comment link and leaving a message. Don't delay! Take the initiative and scale the mountain today!!

Alright, so onto the warehouse that is supposed to be the focus of this post. Let me tell you straight off, packing boxes in a warehouse is work that not everyone can do. Anyone can do it for an hour or two, but when lunch comes and it's only 30 minutes and you realize you're only halfway done for the day...IT'S A BITCH. I doubt there is a better way to describe it. Then at 5pm you're done and the relief sets in...you finally have the chance to go home, lie down and rest. But since you pack boxes in a warehouse for a living, you don't have a car and you've got to wait at the bus station for the bus that comes out to the industrial section of town (It doesn't come every 15 minutes) and catch that to the train station and take the train then walk home. Then plop down and get up at the crack of dawn to do it all again. I'm sure right now some of you are saying "Welcome to reality, snowman. Hey babe, would you grab me a freakin' beer?" I mean, what can you do? Work fast and tire yourself out and come home with lacerations. The lacerations are no small thing; you'd be complaining, too. Work slowly and prolong the agony. The agony that you're stuck inside on a bright summer day. The agony that lunch and transportation significantly cut into the jackshit you're earning. The agony that the consumers purchasing the Travel Trio won't ever consider that a person, not a machine, packed those bags...and that person packed more bags than the consumer realized existed. The agony that the guy packing next to me insists he buying Warriors season tickets, yet thinks Larry Hughes still plays for the team. The agony that Warriors fans celebrated when the team acquired Larry Hughes. The AGONY that the guy packing next to me suggests I beat my next drug test by microwaving some pre-acquired urine from a friend for 25 seconds...I mean, if we put our heads together I'm sure we could think of a better way to pass a drug test!!

Plus, the bottled water supplied to us during breaks was expired. Expired bottled water?! Is there anything that can be said besides "Dude, WHAT THE FUCK?!" That shit must have been 10 years old! Huh? Of course I drank it!

So, that's what it's like packing boxes in a warehouse. I did it for seven days. Those of you doing it any longer...I'm thinking about you.