A working class hero is something to be.

I woke up late this morning with one of my songs playing on the jukebox in my head. This happens frequently, especially when I'm in the writing process. I don't mind; I've woken up with far worse in my head. I slept late because yesterday was one of the most taxing days I've had at work. I didn't get home until 7:30 and, as much as I desired and needed to go out and be social, my body vetoed the idea and kept me immobile. I fell asleep almost as soon as I was able to sit down.

I don't want to relive much of what happened, and I suspect you don't want me to, either. So what I'll do is try to give a brief account and be done with it. Having said that, allow me to proceed with a lengthy retelling. It started at the end of the day on Friday, when I was, in the few minutes I had available, going over Saturday's orders with James. He had paperwork spread all over his desk and he showed me everything he had done. He told me every order was put together and ready to go out. He pointed to various piles strewn across the warehouse and indicated that they were the completed orders. It sure seemed like Jame was on top of things. As it was the end of the day, James then dismissed himself and punched out to go home. I told him I'd see him tomorrow and he responded by saying he probably wasn't coming in because he had his son over the house. Don't worry, he told me, Karen knew about this development. As he walked out the door he told me he was going to call her, anyhow, because he wanted to go over the orders with her, too.

Saturday morning arrived and chaos ensued. Karen had decided to come in because we had a lot going out. And guess what? Almost all of the orders were not put together and the ones that were turned out to be incorrect. And James was a no show. He never called Karen, either. As a result of his incompetence, we had to work double time. Oh, and Arkam, one of our drivers, was a no-show, too. He had banged up the front of one our trucks on Friday and didn't tell Karen or me. Rather than explain to us what happened, which was probably nothing more than a fender bender, he opted to remain silent. He told Gio, another of our drivers, that he didn't do it, even t hough everyone knew he did. And then he skipped out on work, rather than face the music. Well, he's done. And so is James, though that's what I thought the first time he was fired.

From 7:30 to 7:30, I was busting ass. I went on a ton of deliveries and when I was back in the shop, I was rushing out the orders that needed to be filled. And to make matters worse, Dan, one of the bright spots on our roster, slipped off the back of the pick up truck and broke his elbow, or so I'm told. So, now we were even more short handed. The fact that it was one of the more muggy days in recent memory, didn't help much in the energy department. We all cursed James and Arkam as we toiled through the mire.

Karen was livid all day. Because I'm the manager of the joint, I'm supposed to make sure days like yesterday do not happen. Even though I barely had time to even take sip from my drink on Friday, I should have, even if it meant staying late, gone over the orders with James in detail. It sure looked, on the surface at least, that he had his ducks in a row, but evidently that wasn't the case. Karen never bitched me out directly, but I suspected she was silently cursing me, among others, out.

Near what was supposed to be the end of the day, I was in Malden with Scott, a guy who does work for us on short notice, doing some deliveries. At that point, I was just about spent. I wanted to sleep. I wanted to shower. I wanted to be done with the day and it didn't look like that was going to happen any time soon. And that proved to be especially true when, on our way to our second to last delivery, the truck ran out of gas on a steep hill. Scott was able to get it fairly close to the side, but its butt was sticking out in the road. I couldn't believe our shit luck. I almost lost it when some baseball hat wearing college prick pulled up beside us and went off on Scott about learning how to park correctly. In unison, Scott and I told him to fuck off and added a few other choice words. Fortunately, things got better. The guy who lived in the house we stalled in front of, gave Scott a ride to the gas station. There was that, at least.

Once we were filled up with gas, we made our way to our next delivery. I got a call from Ryan telling us to head back to the shop so we could load the truck for some more deliveries. More deliveries? I told him we were only a couple of miles from our next one and that we should do that before we went all the way back to the shop just to go back to the same place at some point. He gave me some wise ass response to which I gave a reply of "fuck you" before I hung up. I wasn't in the best of moods at that point. More deliveries? It was already six o'clock. Fuck!

On the way back, Scott and I talked about Nashua. Turned out he grew up there. He told me a bit about his life; how he lived in Texas, did some time for A&B and petty theft, how cleaned up his act and got married and had some kids, and how he ended up in Somerville. I've worked off and on with Scott for the last few months, and he's always smiling, always working hard. Too bad he only wants to be payed under the table, because he would be a good addition to our crew.

We got back to the shop and found out that there were about five more deliveries, none of which I was going to go on. Once we got the guys on the trucks with their orders, I pulled Karen aside and told her I was sorry for contributing to the day's mishaps. I expected her to go off on me, but instead she smiled and told me not to worry about it, that she was directing her anger elsewhere. She told me it meant a lot to her that I even said anything, because it showed that I care. During her first summer, she told me, she made a ton of mistakes. The job is not an easy one and it takes time to get the hang of it, she explained. That made me feel better.

James and Arkam will not be back. And there may be more guys on the chopping block, but even though they're headaches, I'm fond of them and would hate to see them go. When Karen left, I saw the drivers off. Despite being hurled out on some more jobs on a Saturday night, they were in good spirits. We joked around a bit and then they were off. I headed back into the shop, shut off the lights and set the alarm. I smiled at the fact that, despite the insanity of the day, I came out on top, unscathed, with my sanity intact.