Monday, December 15, 2008

A perch. On the bridge.

At work. I am assigned the task to, using a forklift I've never operated before, bring a huge load of bottles to our working station. With nervous feet I approach the forklift and get on it. I stare at all the various buttons and levers with a look of sheer confusion. After three minutes I finally figure out how to turn it on and I do so. I slowly but gently get it rolling in the direction I'm supposed to head towards. As I roll down the enormous labyrinth that is Coca Cola AB I start to get the hang of it; I start to become more confident and thus giving me the courage to step on the gas a bit more. I start to feel really good. 'This is easy', I think to myself. Then I arrive at my destination. I pull one of the levers towards me and pick up my cargo. And then it happens. The thing I've been fearing for several days finally happens. Coca Cola's own Schumacher comes blazing past me and yells at me not to get in his way and that I'm slowing him down. He is very upset. In panic I try to move my forklift out of his way, granting him passage to move through. After a while I succeed and off he goes, with an annoyed look on his face, muttering 'damn trainees'.

Silence falls. I am completely still, not moving an inch from where I am sitting down. I look down on the ground in shame. And then I suddenly get angry. I never meant for this to happen. I just wanted to get my load. 'Ass-face', I scream. A completely meaningless fit of rage. Like the perch's last jerk on the bridge.


Al Young said...


Irrational rage is a trademark of mine: I just tend to write instead of getting too worked up about it.

Of course, being a Finn, you were probably drunk.

Janne said...

I usually just drown my anger with a nice, clean bottle of whiskey. I think it works quite well. Naturally.

Although occasionally I run out of alcohol and that's when stuff like this happens.