Truck Me How I Like It

If this guy moves any slower, I might just kill him

I took a deep breath, willing myself to keep calm. I’d promised Adrian Mitchell, my boss at ConcreteXpress, that I would watch my temper. But this dude was pushing it.

I’d had run-ins with him before, and they had almost cost me my job. The forklift operator just knew how to push my buttons. It was as though he existed to make my life hell.

At least I had the weekend to look forward to, it being Friday afternoon and all. My brother Joey was thriving at the treatment facility, and I would be visiting him on Saturday. I loved our new home, too. It was much better than the tiny apartment we’d been living in, which had been the cause of so much stress for him.

The past six months at the trailer park had been a slice of heaven. The residents were cool, and Adrian and his boyfriend Brandon Perez were kind to me. The best thing, though, was that Joey was finally getting the help he needed to deal with all the things that had happened to him in Afghanistan. My brother was getting his life back.

Another fifteen minutes passed, and the dumb fuck on a power trip was still only halfway through unloading the pallets from the flatbed. I sent a quick text to Adrian about the situation, then decided that enough was enough. If the guy didn’t hurry up, I’d miss my last drop of the day because the business would close soon.

I got out of the truck, locked the cab, and made my way to the management office, ignoring the smirk on the dude’s face as I passed him. Jesus, did he even shower? I could smell him from fifty feet away.

Just my luck, the manager who’d intercepted my altercation in the past with the idiot outside was coming out of a back room.

He stopped when he saw me and sighed. “Please tell me there isn’t blood on the pavement, Mr. Choi,” he said, his silvery gray eyes wary as he waited on my response.

“No, sir, Mr. Fontana,” I said. “But the operator is slower than molasses, and it’ll make me late if he doesn’t hurry up. Can you do something? I gotta get going.” I tried to keep the frustration in my voice to a minimum, but it was difficult.

The manager shook his head. “Shit.” He placed the stack of papers in his hands on a nearby desk and walked back the way I’d come in. “Let’s go.”

* * * *

Ten minutes later, the pallets were unloaded and Mr. Fontana signed off on the sheet. “Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”

I opened the truck door, but before I got in, he stopped me. “Hold up,” he said. I stepped back and looked at him. He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m sorry you’ve been having problems with the deliveries lately, and with Buzz in particular.” So that’s the name of the moron on the forklift. Figures.

“Whatever. I’m just trying to do my job, you know?” I got into the cab and rolled the window down. “Thanks again, sir.”

“Anytime,” he replied, and smiled, a toothy grin that did something funny to my insides, for some reason. “You know, you can call me Paul, Derrick.”

“I might just do that in the future, Mr. Fontana. See you next time,” I said, ignoring his mild flirtation as I started the engine.

Paul stepped back and I watched him in my side view mirrors as I pulled out of the lot, his shoulder-length, salt-and-pepper hair blowing in the light breeze. Huh, who would have thought…

I made it to my last stop right before closing, thank goodness. Sam, my regular off-loader was already waiting on his forklift, so it was a quick in and out. By the time I returned to ConcreteXpress, I was pretty exhausted, as well as covered in dust.

I cleaned out the truck since it was my last run of the week, and transferred all my equipment, bags and coffee mugs to my 2002 Subaru Legacy, Peaches. Don’t judge me. I like the fruit, is all.

Adrian was at his desk as usual when I entered the trailer office. I handed over the keys along with my paperwork.

“Everything work out okay with the stop you texted me about?” he asked, hanging the set in its customary spot on the board.

“Yes, it did. I found a manager to help me get that fucker to move his ass.” I ran a hand over the ponytail at the back of my head. “He has it in for me, and I don’t know why.”

“Who gives a shit? Maybe he’s just a miserable snot of a human being. Don’t let him get to you,” Adrian said, and leaned back in his chair. “You comin’ to the barbecue tonight? Brandon’s doin’ pork ribs.” The smile on his face was full of contentment, and I felt a twinge.