I followed the blue line leading to the packaging site, through the white halls, walking over the white tiles with Scrap following along. Deliverers had to walk 5 feet apart from each other with their partners and the person in front of me was the most annoying, fucking Kyle. Like most people in the morning, they are still tired and silent until (other than people drinking coffee but not many folks drink that anymore) later when at work when you get used to the day but not Kyle. Not fucking Kyle. He was energetic, a hard worker, and a chatterbox which sounds good on paper but not to us deliverers. The big guys at the top love him and their attention was all on him like he was a famous celebrity and labeled him "a model deliverer". This affects all of us because he became the standard of all deliverers and we need to try to keep up which is just a pain in the ass (it's like the model student in your class which your teachers and parents always refer to and want you to become). Not only that but when he talks you either leave the conversation with an excuse or kill him to shut him up. The topics he talks about are uninteresting and can make even a crying baby fall asleep. He also has an energy of a man who snorted cocaine all his life. He once called me at 4 a.m like it was a normal time to call, his voice and no sound of tiredness at all and he called just to tell me that the next day was his birthday which no one even bothered to care about (he called about 50 people). I almost forgot about his looks. I saw him occasionally on video calls. He has a semi-built body, ginger hair, and round eyes. he looks average to male's eyes but to women, he resembles the sexiest man on earth which he doesn't brag about but he knows he's a lady killer. All and all, just remember that he was an asshole. The biggest piece of shit.
"Hey, dude!" Kyle turned his back and called out to me. When I croaked I had something else to say in my head
"What?" Fuck Off Kyle.
"Did you know that..." I forget the rest or probably didn't even listen. I do remember people around us were also filled with boredom like myself. If you were to ask them they possibly don't remember it themselves. When we reached the packaging site he stopped talking. Fucking finally.
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Welcome to the packaging site, the beginning of where shit gets put into boxes and delivered to peoples' doors. Personally, I don't care about its mechanism and technical things about the place cause I don't have to there are mechanics for that I just need to know how to use it like phones, you may know how to use it but don't really know how it works unless you searched for it. The place was well sorted, brightly lighted with greyish walls, conveyor belts can be seen everywhere so it was a hassle for people starting out but they all get to know it after a while.
Scrap and I came into a decontamination room with other deliverers with their partners to get sprayed at. We went out and proceeded to go to the upload stations. There are 50 stations for each robot, each labeled with their districts, I had the 34th.
"Fuck me! It'll be the morning till I finish the job." a man beside me yelled.
"Hope we're not like him." I said.
"Then let's check shall we" Scrap responded.
The station had a fist-sized plug to connect with deliverers' partners at their necks. I plugged it in and Scrap stood there like a mannequin for a moment. "It seems we don't have that many."
"Great."
"But you do have to report back at the office Mr. Burnwood wants to see you after the deliveries."
"Fuck."
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The Vans were located at the far end of the site The boxes came in a lift conveyor next to the van, I put all the boxes available into the back of the van while calling out their addresses so Scrap can check it
"All seems to be in order." Scrap said.
I nodded and close the backdoors of the van and went inside, I got shotgun. The garage door opened and we went off. I called a friend of mine, Mike using the dashboard monitor, he picked up after two rings.
"Sup Les. How've you been?" He has a similar appearance to a lumberjack you would see in cartoons, huge beard, muscular and he also likes to wear the red checkered long-sleeved shirt (it was his favorite).
"Nothing much. Scrap's here."
"Hi, Mike." Mike gave a wave
"So how it's going for you married man," I said
"I'm not married yet, It's this Thursday. I still need to fill in the forms for a new apartment." For a bit of context, each married couple will get a new apartment to live in or just move into the partner's one. Usually, people take the new apartment option because they will be alone and not live with their partner's parents, plus it will cause conflict and arguments which will be a hassle.
"What class did you pick?"
"The medium class. I'll get a first-class one after a few years when I can afford it."
"So you'll be living a class higher than me huh. Good for you." I was trying to sound happy.
"I don't understand why you won't get the first-class apartment. You make much more money than I do."
"Pain in the ass."
"But it'll be comfortable and relaxing and..."
"I don't care, Mike."
"Alright wanna do the usual bet."
"Sure, I'll call Director." His real name is Brennan but because of his job, as a movie director, we decided to call him that. He didn't answer at first but before I could call him again he called me.
"Wassup, Les. Is it the bet?" He looks like he just got out of bed with his messy hair.
"Yup so what will it be boys." I proclaimed "I
got 53 deliveries to do."
"I think you'll come across 20 to 25 of 'em," said Mike
"I think you'll come across 15 to 20 of 'em"
"You sure Director you lost last time and you're putting the same bet." I said
"I'm feeling lucky today"
"Alright, then I guess ill bet 15 to 20 too. Scrap will be my witness and I'll call you guys later."
They say their farewells and hang up which was perfect since I was already at the first destination. I took the box for this place, got out of the car, went into the apartment building, then into the elevator, and walked over to apartment number 536. As I pressed the doorbell the intercom came on. The voice that came out was a woman's. She was breathing heavily, she was moaning, I could even hear the quiet (not so quiet I guess.) moaning of a man as well.
"Wha...ah....what is it?" Her voice sounded like she was gasping for air.
"Delivery!"
"Oh...ah fuck....just give it to me....fuck that's good."
I gave her the box using the mailbox (It's a huge one then your ordinary mailbox and it's connected to the inside of the apartment) and use a tablet to get a signature by connecting it to the monitor beside the intercom. You could see her signature and I couldn't decide if that's her actual signature or she can't write anything while getting some D from the behind, I imagine.
"Thank you and have a nice day." and muttered, "That's one." I was talking about the bet which was how many times I encounter someone getting fucked while delivering the packages. It may sound bizarre but it is fairly common in this line of work.