The previous entry was a proof-of-concept/writing exercise for what's intended to be a multi-part story. You don't need to read it to understand what's happening going forward, but thanks to everyone who has/will.
This entry is heavy on setup. Look forward to more action next time.
Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoy the ride.
***
Heather and I were finding our grooves in the city. She joined a visual graphics team at a small- to mid-business marketing firm, and she hadn't been happier to talk about work in years. It was the first job where she made actual friends with her coworkers without worrying about them dogging her behind her back. She was getting paid to express her creativity, even though she had to work within the company's style guide. Her career was on a decidedly positive trajectory.
Mine, on the other hand, started out as a much more mixed bag.
I should've paid attention to the fact that all the reviews I found about the clothing supplier came from the office staff and the company's clients. The warehouse's inventory was in shambles, and, bluntly, the previous stockers had been the reason.
The main warehouse was bigger than a football field, and problems occurred all over. Out-of-stock items would get replenished on a shelf a bay away. If a restock box did make it to the right area, it was often left in the middle of the aisle. Many of the aisles had location markers that were years out of date.
The long-timers knew how to work around these and many other hassles. Still, not a day went by without each packer sending at least one order back for corrections.
I had been assigned to the stocking crew with three other guys who joined after the latest wave of turnovers. One of the guys didn't last to the end of the first week. Another got the gig because he knew one of the guys in Fulfillment -- he was getting trained to pull orders about a week after the first guy quit. Which left me with Dio.
Fucking Dio. It's like that slouching, sharp-chinned clown saw all the same problems I described before and challenged himself to make them worse. Products would end up two or three aisles away from their proper location. Different sizes or colors of clothing would get mixed in the same bin. The only benefit to him moving as slow as he did was that he couldn't fit more mistakes into his shift. Even on the few occasions I tried to teach Dio to put products in their right places, the lesson wouldn't last to the next day.
My smartest move probably would've been to find other work, but there were a few obstacles. Firstly, my parents didn't raise quitters -- that comes with a stubborn streak. And if I didn't put the effort in to fix that mess, then the problems would only pile up.
It didn't hurt that all the walking and heavy lifting doubled as a mild workout. Thanks to the line of work, my once stick-figure frame started gaining some modest muscles. Besides, I darkly enjoyed tackling the largest puzzle I've ever encountered outside of an escape room.
After a couple months of asking the veteran warehouse guys about product locations and how the description codes worked, I had enough of a map in mind to start putting a plan together. I'd already been sliding bins into their proper order whenever they were out of place; the next step was consolidating the boxes Dio and the pullers left in random aisles. It's amazing how much inventory can be found when somebody's actually paying attention to their surroundings.
I had to squeeze it between the gaps of my official tasks, but I completed my stadium-sized project in about two more months. It was enough to get praise from the Fulfillment guys for making their jobs easier, even if some of that praise was tinged with resentment. The folks in Sales loved the change, too; after all, the less they got hounded about wrong shipments and backorders, the more money they could bring in for the business (and their bonuses).
Which brings me to the last, but far from least, reason I stayed at the warehouse.
Rumiko was the first person in Sales to say something about orders coming through more correctly more often. It makes sense -- I'd find out later that she handles accounts for the Northeast, the Midwest, and a few high-volume clients beyond. She earned that workload with hyper-competence, so it wouldn't have taken long for her to notice a change in her calls' volume and tone.
I was halfway up a rolling ladder and unloading a fifty-pound box of cargo pants into a bin when Seth, my floor manager, introduced her to me.
Heather is a head-turner with her round face, hazel eyes, straight brown hair, and effortless charm. She's proud of her tits, which sit on the border of C- and D-cups, but they're a touch too big for my taste. Her hips, though, are just the right width for me to rest my hands on. She is soft beauty in the pale flesh, and I wouldn't change a thing -- not even her breast size.
But I was so struck by the sight of Rumiko that I barely registered when she said she preferred "Miko." I struggled to keep my gaze from either wandering her body or just staring into her dark brown eyes. She was angular sexiness, from her high cheekbones to her smaller bust to her straight hips. Long black hair tumbled in waves over the shoulder of her steel-gray polo.
Then she smiled her crooked smile.
My heart skipped a beat. I spat out some standard greeting to keep my infatuation from becoming more obvious. Thankfully, Seth and Miko continued their warehouse walkabout. Fit the rest of the day I tried to focus at least half as much on my work as I could on the knowledge that such a distressingly attractive woman worked one breezeway over.
I thought the affection would pass. Novelty can be alluring on its own, and I was sure she'd get bored of placating the new guy. But she stayed kind and considerate. And warm. And witty. As casual greetings in the aisles turned into conversations in her cubicle while dropping off orders, I couldn't tell whether Miko was leaving her sales rep hat on for me or just being genuine.
Of course, because Heather and I talk about everything, I eventually confessed my crush to her over a casual dinner on the couch one late summer evening. So casual, in fact, that all she wore was a bright tie-dye sports bra and green sweats. She'd tied her hair back to cook and hadn't bothered to let it back down. I'd changed into a black tank top and basketball shorts after my post-work shower.
"Wow," Heather said before sipping her cherry cola. "It sounds like you've got it real bad for Sales Lady."
She brought her feet sideways on the secondhand sofa and leaned into my side. Her warmth and weight felt nice against my sore torso.
I nod. "It feels like high school all over again. Seeing her is my favorite part of every shift, even if I'm too worn out to muster the nerve to say hi."
Heather snorted. "Pussy."
I rolled my eyes and nibbled the last of my still-warm burrito. "Thanks."
Heather chuckled quietly. "No, it's sweet. But not every woman's like me, y'know. If you want to stay on her mind, you'll have to push your boundaries. Put in some effort, say something first."
I pursed my lips and stared at the meme compilation playing on the TV. She wasn't wrong. Still, I shook my head.
"I need things to stay normal between us. Miko probably had half the guys at the company make some sort of pass at her. I don't want her to think I'm just another ogler."
"That's a cute name," Heather cooed. "Just be friendly! You're a hard-working cinnamon roll. She probably wouldn't dream of you making a move on her."
I looked down from the TV. "It's not that I don't want to, it's that I can't. I feel exposed when I talk with her, like she can see everything I want to tell her. I spend half the time I talk to her trying to seal it up so it doesn't just pop out."
Heather stared at me with curious, not accusatory, eyes. "What's the worst that could happen if it did?"
"She could stop talking to me."
"You'd rather talk next-to-never than risk talking more?"
"It's not--" I hung my head and shrugged. "She could stop wanting to talk to me. She could think I'm a creep, tell her friends. She could tell management!"
Heather mirrored my shrug with a teasing grin. "Did I do any of that?"
