- Elementary Funk
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Salvation seems near at hand. Boiling over with rage, the manager handed down a few stern words, their intention driven through near breaking spectacles. Clearly on the edge, he fought back readied fists as everyone within earshot leant in to hear the ramblings. Those outside were briefed later on.
He wanted to know about whether or not happiness was a state and put forth feelings of not being comfortable of being comfortable being paid a pittance working most arduous labour.
The breaking point? Most likely being spotted sitting atop a metre high stack of flattened boxes. Perfectly timed without the manager's knowing, the work had already been completed and there was absolutely nothing to do. He didn't see it that way. Compounding matters was the sighting of one side of a box ready for dispatch. Covering half of the cardboard, eyes all googly, wobbly and haphazard-like. Some rant about showing respect to the clients was followed by pleads to cover up the "offending" material.
Exasperated and sorely out of breath, he started with, "You know, you don't have to be here if you don't want to. We can just always hire someone else."
And no doubt under pay them too.
Stopping just short of the sweet words needed, he walked off in a huff, sorely defeated by a worker without a single care in the warehouse.
Friday, 2 July 2004 - 11:20
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