ice storm.”
He made a last mark on the clipboard, stepped behind the lifts, and started to slip the pencil into his shirt pocket. “I hear we’re in for some flooding. They might even close the bridges.”
I hung up my clipboard and held out my hand to take the pencil back. I’d need it throughout the shift, especially if I ended up loading and unloading trucks. “True, that,” I said, thinking of the water in my basement apartment. How deep would it be when I got off work?
Holding out the pencil, he said, “You run into any impassible roads on your way in tonight?”
“I walk,” I said. “A lot of water in the streets. But not so’s you couldn’t drive through it.”
He nodded. “Got to be careful, though. Sometimes it looks like it’s just a few inches on the road, near a stream or a culvert or something, but you try to drive through it, and it don’t take all that much to float you right off the road and downstream a bit.”
“Dangerous,” I agreed, wondering why he was carrying on this conversation with me. He usually ignored me.
“Yeah,” he continued. “And the underpasses can get flooded, too.”
When I’d moved the truck the morning before, the drains in the underpass were already sluggish. It had rained all day. I wondered what it was like now.
The other lift driver on that shift, Diffy, came careening around the corner. Because the electric lifts run silently, we hadn’t heard it approach. Bert and I both jumped back to avoid being hit.
Diffy slid his forklift into the docking bay, bumping the wall with a resounding thud. Several of the clipboards tumbled from their nails.
“Hey, dude,” Bert said. “Watch it there. You almost nailed us.”
I went over, picked up one of the fallen clipboards, and put it back on its nail.
Diffy leapt off his lift and came back, drawing himself up to his full height in front of Bert. “What’re you doing standing in the aisle?” he asked. “That’s asking to be hit.”
“No, it’s not,” Bert protested. “You got to be in the aisle sometimes.”
“Yeah? What’re you doing jawing with this jailbird?”
I straightened up and looked toward him. “I don’t want no trouble,” I said.
Diffy turned toward me and spit on the floor. “Wasn’t talking to you,” he said. “Probably do the world a favor, though, if I ran into you and put you out of commission. Save a couple of kids. You can bet I wouldn’t talk to you.”
Last thing I needed was getting in trouble over something stupid at work. But I was in the union now, so I couldn’t be fired for just anything. And Bert was a witness to this. So I raised my eyebrows and said, “No? Who you talking to now?”
A mulish expression came over Diffy’s face. “You, punk.”
“Oh. I must have been mistaken. I thought I just heard you say you wasn’t going to talk to me.”
Bert snickered.
Diffy’s face turned red, and he turned to Bert. “You think you’re so smart. You think you’re gonna run the forklift on overtime tomorrow? I’ll see you don’t. I’ll get the shift.”
Bert just grinned. “Go for it. I turned it down, anyhow. They’re not running our shift tomorrow, so it’d have to be day shift. I’m not going home just to be back in less than eight hours.”
Fists clenched, Diffy turned on his boot heel and stomped away.
“What’s the matter with him?” I asked.
Bert shrugged. “He got caught smoking back by the exhaust fan. Thinks I turned him in.”
“Did you?”
“Nope. Foreman was looking for him, and I told him which way Diffy was headed last I saw him. What else could I do? But I didn’t know what he was doing back there.”
“What was he smoking?”
“I dunno. Cigarette, I suppose. But could have been a blunt or something.”
I picked up another fallen clipboard and hung it up. “You’d think that’d mellow him out some.”
“Yeah. But it doesn’t seem to have.” Bert climbed on Diffy’s abandoned forklift and straightened it
He made a last mark on the clipboard, stepped behind the lifts, and started to slip the pencil into his shirt pocket. “I hear we’re in for some flooding. They might even close the bridges.”
I hung up my clipboard and held out my hand to take the pencil back. I’d need it throughout the shift, especially if I ended up loading and unloading trucks. “True, that,” I said, thinking of the water in my basement apartment. How deep would it be when I got off work?
Holding out the pencil, he said, “You run into any impassible roads on your way in tonight?”
“I walk,” I said. “A lot of water in the streets. But not so’s you couldn’t drive through it.”
He nodded. “Got to be careful, though. Sometimes it looks like it’s just a few inches on the road, near a stream or a culvert or something, but you try to drive through it, and it don’t take all that much to float you right off the road and downstream a bit.”
“Dangerous,” I agreed, wondering why he was carrying on this conversation with me. He usually ignored me.
“Yeah,” he continued. “And the underpasses can get flooded, too.”
When I’d moved the truck the morning before, the drains in the underpass were already sluggish. It had rained all day. I wondered what it was like now.
The other lift driver on that shift, Diffy, came careening around the corner. Because the electric lifts run silently, we hadn’t heard it approach. Bert and I both jumped back to avoid being hit.
Diffy slid his forklift into the docking bay, bumping the wall with a resounding thud. Several of the clipboards tumbled from their nails.
“Hey, dude,” Bert said. “Watch it there. You almost nailed us.”
I went over, picked up one of the fallen clipboards, and put it back on its nail.
Diffy leapt off his lift and came back, drawing himself up to his full height in front of Bert. “What’re you doing standing in the aisle?” he asked. “That’s asking to be hit.”
“No, it’s not,” Bert protested. “You got to be in the aisle sometimes.”
“Yeah? What’re you doing jawing with this jailbird?”
I straightened up and looked toward him. “I don’t want no trouble,” I said.
Diffy turned toward me and spit on the floor. “Wasn’t talking to you,” he said. “Probably do the world a favor, though, if I ran into you and put you out of commission. Save a couple of kids. You can bet I wouldn’t talk to you.”
Last thing I needed was getting in trouble over something stupid at work. But I was in the union now, so I couldn’t be fired for just anything. And Bert was a witness to this. So I raised my eyebrows and said, “No? Who you talking to now?”
A mulish expression came over Diffy’s face. “You, punk.”
“Oh. I must have been mistaken. I thought I just heard you say you wasn’t going to talk to me.”
Bert snickered.
Diffy’s face turned red, and he turned to Bert. “You think you’re so smart. You think you’re gonna run the forklift on overtime tomorrow? I’ll see you don’t. I’ll get the shift.”
Bert just grinned. “Go for it. I turned it down, anyhow. They’re not running our shift tomorrow, so it’d have to be day shift. I’m not going home just to be back in less than eight hours.”
Fists clenched, Diffy turned on his boot heel and stomped away.
“What’s the matter with him?” I asked.
Bert shrugged. “He got caught smoking back by the exhaust fan. Thinks I turned him in.”
“Did you?”
“Nope. Foreman was looking for him, and I told him which way Diffy was headed last I saw him. What else could I do? But I didn’t know what he was doing back there.”
“What was he smoking?”
“I dunno. Cigarette, I suppose. But could have been a blunt or something.”
I picked up another fallen clipboard and hung it up. “You’d think that’d mellow him out some.”
“Yeah. But it doesn’t seem to have.” Bert climbed on Diffy’s abandoned forklift and straightened it
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