6:00 am – I wake up on me girlfriend’s mum’s futon. I’m no longer allowed to use the bathroom after she found my bucket set up so I have a quick wash in the sink and smash a few cannies in my truck – that’s what I call my Ford Focus.
6:30 am – I swing by me favourite servo to pick up 3 Dares. I get two down as fast as I can as I need to counter the effects of the choof a touch. Don’t feel guilty but, at full flight I’m a force of nature, no warehouse can handle me, so I gotta take the edge off.
7:00 am – boss man is in my face asking me what time it is. He reminds me that work starts at 6. I wait until he’s about 10m away and verbally piss on his piss by muttering that work starts when I fire up me chariot.
7:00 am – smoko – in a series of unfortunate events, I’ve managed to spill a palate of fragile wares and my supervisor tries to fight me. I intimidate the larger man with my best UFC pose. It takes 3 men to drag him off me.
Smoko – tip for young players – cheese kranskys takes ya mind off impending WorkSafe investigations. Lunch bar bird calls me darl. I utilise the memory and kranksy grease to wrestle the hog in the can. I’m in the zone now.
10:30 am – I execute a perfect lift and load. Absolutely textbook and I suffer from an ego attack. In my celebration of thumping my chest and calling myself the king kong of forkies I reverse into another palate.
11:00 am – I reckon I’m doing a hell good job cos everyone is talking about giving me the rest of the day off. I tell em I won’t have it and the warehouse needs me. I then tell anyone who will listen about how much puss I get.
Lunch – lotta mutual respect flowing around the milk carton circle. It appears it’s my turn for the lunch roast ha ha. 456 days in a row. I give it as good as I get but, and my eyes water due to the mutual respect between tradesmen.
12:30 pm – a coworker opens up to me. He reckons he’s had a gutful of me and if I ever call myself a tradesmen again he’ll risk it all to wipe the shiteating grin off my stupid face. That’s an example of the respect I was talking about before.
1:00 pm – I make everyone sick with a little leak from my cheese sausage cave. Legitimate dry heaving and gagging. Reminds me of date night after Kelmy Hogs Breath.
1:30 pm – I’m advised that they are taking me off the forklift and if they weren’t so understaffed I’d be sacked. I think about the copious amount of debt from traffic infringements, payday loans and 50 month interest free credit cards I never paid off. Then I tell him to shove his job up his clacker.
2:00 pm – I tell the misso she’ll have pick up some more shifts and that I’m going out to celebrate alpha-dogging my boss.
2:30 pm – 5:40 pm – after 10 pints I start flashing my Licence to Perform High Risk Work around at the skimpos. I do this instead of tipping.
6:30 pm – looks like I’ve worn out my welcome and am removed by force. I tell them they are fkn with a certified forklift operator and they strangely aren’t swayed. Is nothing sacred?
7:00 pm – I have found myself arrested after holding up the HJs drive through while I try to convince the girl in the window to come and party with a real boss. What are the odds a police vehicle also sought the warming hug of a Whopper?