One turtle dares to poke their head out of their shell.
For the Quitters Anonymous Award
The dust swirls up and fills my nostrils. The tingle fills my head before it finally explodes with a sneeze. I growl, probably louder than I should. Only 6 more trucks to give way to, then I would be dusting them out. I checked the radio is on the right channel. Nothing is more embarrassing than when you miss your call.
The radio sparks loud static, Mel is ready for me again. The truck rumbles to life as I kicked the ignition over. Pushing it into gear we began to roll down the hill. Dirt Turtle I’d heard someone say once. I’d never considered my position in the team until then. The circuit is mundane too. I round a nasty pot hole out of habit, they could have filled it in last night, but I wont to be the one checking.
The Mess room is just that. A disgraceful fucking mess. I collect some paper towel and spray and wipe and attempt to clean a spot amongst the dust and grime. I clear enough to put my plate on. Damn this is a depressing place. The rest of the crew waltz through the door then. Bitching about the supervisor, and the mess, and some other truckie they had just got in the way of. I can’t stand most of the people I work with, so small minded, like they are ever going to take any action and make this a better place. I keep my head down as they pass me, hopping to remain as invisible as possible.
Sitting there I realised, I may not be in the in crowd, but I certainly am one of the crowd. I scan the nightmare before me. The grime coated tables, the bitching, the lack of organisation. Fuck. I really hate this place. The supervisor walks past, ‘Sam’, that’s all the acknowledgment I get. I scamper back to my truck.
I hold the paper work in my hand. Nervous, I knock on the Manager’s door. Damn. He’s in. I pass him my resignation. He looks surprised. I should have known he’d want more of an explanation than what I offered. Everyone here follows some kind of robot system, but they don’t really care. Fuck, does anyone ever really care. How do you tell the fat controller the railway don’t come through here no more? There is no out. Not when it gets in your head like this.