Working Holiday by Rusty Rimes


“Man it’s cold out here, I think my ass is frozen to this crate.”

“Yeah Tony I know what you mean. You’d think with all the money these bastards make, they could at least put up a heater or two in this warehouse for us.”

“Yeah, you’re right Bill. Especially this time of year, when they really roll in the dough, with all that Christmas shipping crap.”

It has been the same every year for the past three. I have been working for this place for five and a half years now, and Tony came to work about two years after me. The money’s not too bad, but the work can be back breaking at times, and the conditions really suck, burn up in the summer, freeze your nuts in the winter.

“Tony, I’m gonna go take a piss, be right back, then we can load up bay eighteen so he can hit the road. Told me he’s running all the way to sunny Arizona, wish I was going with him.”

“Careful, it might turn to icicles before it hits the urinal, then you’d have to break it off, instead off shake it off” Tony replies with gut wrenching laughter.

Walking to the head, I look around the warehouse thinking about what Tony had said. Christmas shipping, each year it seems more and more crap passes through here, man the money for all this shit could buy a damn third world country. Sometimes these feelings come over me, to just take all this junk and burn the place down, so people would see what they have been turned into.

Okay. Yeah I was raised on the poor side of the tracks, and my mama tried real hard to raise us Christian, but pops was atheist to the core. This time of year was nothing but a bone of contention for him. He would grumble about the money spent on the lights put up by the city, the decorations, the paid holidays of the bureaucrats, an anything else that made him feel poorer than he was. Pops saw every penny spent on the holiday’s as his. The government stealing his tax dollars, just to throw it away on some fairy tail belief. Oh, there’s the shipping clerk, gotta hollar at him.

“Hey, Jamin, we need the paperwork for number eighteen. We’re hitting her up next. That boy’s gotta go all the way to AZ”

As I approach the restroom door, my heart sinks. The handwritten sign simply said “Closed Frozen Pipes”, oh piss on it.

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Rusty Rimes

Rusty Rimes

To learn more about the author, please go to Meet the Writers. 

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