Monday, June 30, 2014

Don't Snitch

I work at a much maligned shipping company that I won't name. There are articles online about how we're mistreated and how Dickensian our lives are and so forth. It's actually not that bad. The pay is terrible, but the work is easy and getting fired is hard. With the right attitude it can be almost weirdly liberating.

Rudy, my friend and co worker who is a hardcore infowars devotee, basically believes Mike and Tim, our bosses, blew up the World Trade Center. I won't get to into it but order to bring our packages we deliver down to us they drive it from this other location and to pay for their time and the truck they take a little bit out of our paycheck yadda yadda yadda. It's a really minor thing but in that, a world of conspiracies are born. I don't understand it. If he wanted to, he could drive up and get his packages himself but instead he just complains...and complains...

and he always screws up.
Tim and Rudy have almost come to blows over these two issues. They had a nice screaming match this past winter while we were all inside the back of the truck which was quite intense audio wise. Nothing beats being in a metal box in the middle of the coldest winter ever while barely awake and having horrible cursing jar your mind/ skull.

Recently Rudy was added to the witness list for a trial. He'd been at a party where a rape and attempted murder occurred and now they'd found some DNA evidence. The defendant was some gang affiliated guy who was already in jail. Rudy wasn't excited about the prospect of testifying and was somewhat (rightfully) paranoid that the guy would try to get to him before the trial.

The other day, Rudy forgot a pay roll which you can't do, so Tim came to his apartment to get it. He knocked on the door, but Rudy was in the shower, probably working up a facebook rant. His room mate (he lives in a boarding house thing) was like "Rudy it's for you, they sound really mad". Rudy started freaking out: it was the guy!

"I started looking around for something to use"
He settled on an electric shaver and in his mind tried to figure out a way to weaponize it. Perhaps transform it into some kind of razor tazer or something? Meanwhile, Tim had by now made it to the bathroom door...

Well, luckily, before the raze taze was unleashed he figured it out. He stormed out of the bathroom absolutely furious even though the whole thing happening was his fault. He informed Tim that he's done with " ______" (our company) then launched into a scathing indictment (is there another kind?) of the operation with the usual sinister overtones. Tim had heard it all before and just wanted the payroll, as it's peoples paychecks that they need and which we're hired to deliver.

Both of them told me this story separately and neither of them seemed to think it was very funny. Rudy btw has four hundred million tattoos and Tim is a Soccer Dad.

Here's a bonus selfie of me from the freezing cold argument day

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