The Week the Wheels Came Off: Part 1

As you are already aware, I did a six-year stint as an undercover operative in a menial job.  This was by choice, as I thought I could do a lot of damage in a short period of time.  Needless to say I did.  Retail was flying high when I started and now all the companies are closing stores.  Did you see?  Sam’s Club surprise-closed like 100 stores this week alone!  ::sniff:: All my hard work paid off.  It really did.

That one backwards hanger pretty much sums up six years of employment.

So anyway, I had two jobs when I left work.  Putting stickers on things that go on clearance and putting up signs so customers knew how much things were.  I might have also been in charge of people who did that stuff, I can’t be sure.  There were a gaggle of people who followed me around and kept asking things like “What do you want me to do now?”  and “Aren’t you in charge?”  Like how am I supposed to know that?

So, I had a cart of signs that I’d wheel around the store with me.  It was heavy and squeaked and all four of the swivel wheels wobbled.  It sometimes hurt to push or pull it because it would always try to swing around in full circles. I would have hired it to work at the Illuminati, if it had been sentient enough to roll away, screaming for its life.

I asked the stock image site for pictures of bearings and they gave me an army of gummy bears. Well played, Pexels, well played.

Anyway, that last week, the wheel on my cart finally finished breaking, spewing little ball bearings all over the floor in the area I was working.  The store was not open yet, so the lights were still low.  Each step I took, I stepped on ball-bearings that I could not see but would stay with me by wedging into the grooves of my shoes and making life uncomfortable and dangerous.  Those little bastards are slippery when you get enough stuck in there.

In addition to spewing its guts all over the floor, the wheel refused to turn anymore. I called my boss to rub her nose in it, but she was having none of that.  So, I stole a smaller cart, whose wheels fucking worked, from someone else and dumped a bunch of my shit on it.  I called out “Man down!” as loudly as I could as I left the carcass of my old cart behind.  And there it stayed until after the store opened.

Later, after the store opened, I stared at my old cart like a golden worker’s comp shaped opportunity. “I should really get that back upstairs where it belongs,” I said to myself.  “That shouldn’t be out where the customers can see it,” I replied as my back twinged with anticipated pain.  So, I took a running start and slammed into that bitch as hard as I could.

It moved three inches.

Three inches.

That’s the way it was, across half the store, onto an elevator and then all the way to the other end of the store.  Three inches at a time while customers watched with amusement. That cart’s wheel did not relent, and neither did I.

That’s the face. That’s the face I would have made if my plans had not been thwarted.

And at the end of it all, I didn’t end up hurting my back so no sweet, sweet worker’s comp checks for me.  Miserable bastards.  Stay tuned to hear about exploding equipment and a flood.  A FLOOD.

2 thoughts on “The Week the Wheels Came Off: Part 1

    1. If you’re insinuating that you know the reason why it smells like cat piss and barbecue hamster every time someone runs the heater, we already know.

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