"You Won't See The Boss Down Here on Nights."
"I look at the filthy back wall of the drinking fountain; the old dirty, sooty-gray wallboard with vacant nail holes and scratches in it, only inches from my head, as I lean-in to fill my water bottle.
"Good job," the co-worker said sarcastically. I ignored him, going on about my work filling a shelf near his work area with heavy totes of steel parts used in his work area. The man looked at me, defiantly, as he activated the large machine that rotated horizontally behind him.
"I just paid you a compliment," he said tersely. His white bushy mustache reminded me of cartoon character Yosemite Sam, as did the tops of his cowboy boots that his pants were tucked into. "I just ordered these parts."
I carried a smaller tote to the shelf, but didn't respond.
"Did you hear me? Don't you have anything to say?" Mustache Man said, moving almost to my forklift as I swung myself into the seat.
"I'm trying not to ..." I said, not smiling, as I connected my seat belt and slowly disengaged him from the side of my cab as I started to back up. "It's Saturday."
"That's what I'm saying," he said, well back of my machine as his behemoth cycled automatically again from beyond the shelves. "I just ordered these parts and you brought them right away ..."
"No shit," I thought.
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William Shakespeare