My first job out of college was at a warehouse, I've mentioned this, but not given much detail. It was actually a great time, other than I was not doing what I had set in my mind to do, which was figure out a way to make a six figure salary. That was my only concern in high school.
On my first day, the manager told me she was going to put me in charge of the warehouse, learn as much as you can from the current warehouseman. He apparently had dropped a forklift out one of the big warehouse doors, luckily he didn't hurt anyone, but I guess he had to go. Being warehouseman was fine. I kept the floor clean of pallets, learned to drive forklifts quickly, then gradually I was even given charge of supervising the day laborers we would bring in when we got more work than the normal crew could handle. The normal crew was about ten people, but there were about 3-4 teams of two that would deliver goods to local businesses in those big trucks you see all over town. We had a large contract with IBM at the time, and they were constantly bringing in truckloads of monitors, old cables in pallets, old mainframe computers. All this kind of stuff we would store for a week to a couple months then they would come take to dispose of or take to next holding area.
Most of the day laborers were glad to come in and work. They'd do the simplest task, clean, sweep, maybe use that clear plastic to stack old monitors on a pallet to keep them together. Most just needed to be given direction, so I did. I was never trying to be pushy, but I couldn't have guys just hanging out all day either. One day, a new older black guy came in with the crew of laborers. I don't think he was all there, mentally. I would go in earlier than everybody and by the time people walked in and had coffee, I would already have been moving stuff for an hour or two. I told the guy in particular, while slowing down from forklift, grab a broom and give the front of the warehouse a sweep or something as generic as that. The guy acted like I insulted his mother. Told me "hey Guy, Fuck you, I'm gonna kill you and your fucking family." This was like 8am, I drove off thinking what the hell do I do now? I certainly don't want this clown here hiding in the racks, maybe he jumps me. I stayed on the forklift for awhile, then gladly saw him jump off one of the warehouse doors and walk off into the fields. Never came back, but that sucked.
Told my manager about it, he just kinda chuckled, "yeah, sometimes they're not all there. Come on, you're a big guy, you could take him." Took awhile but I walked it off. That place really helped me grow up.
I once pulled a 23 hour shift there. Apart from the warehouse, we were also a moving company, and it happened regularly, on any given weekend after finishing the regular workweek, we would be invited to go to an office and move the furniture. This was kind of fun, usually it was a race with dollies and pallet jacks. Move move move was the game, nobody stopped until work was done. There is no way I would do that job now.
Then there was the Friday night express. We were part of a chain of warehouses throughout Texas. A truck would set out Monday and bring stuff down from Dallas all the way to Brownsville, then gradually make its way back up. Every week, someone was assigned waiting for the guy, sometimes at 5pm, sometimes at 1am. He was a nice older man, who talked to himself, just interjected your name and kept talking. He moved a lot of Kodak printers, large office sized ones. He may have spent too much time around those inks and toners, but he was a good guy.
I'm glad I worked there, did a solid year. I was also glad I did not get the raise I demanded, causing me to quit. I imagine I might have stayed there much longer had they given me a little more money. Other than the death threat, it was a fun time all around.
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