The Idiots at My Work

When I’m not at home taking care of my son, I work as a laborer at a Twin Cities garden center. Compared
to a professional/corporate office job, things work a little
differently in the manual labor world: at any given moment during my
shift, I can announce to the entire crew that I have an impending bowel
movement on deck and they will soundly applaud. Down in the blue collar trenches—where the necks are thick and teeth are optional—the workers can be an unsavory bunch. And sorry to say, but I’m like the king of the "yardies". So let me tell you about the idiots at my work.

The other day I was teaching a nice 16-year-old high school kid named Daniel how to properly load a cart. It was Daniel’s first day, and he was twitchy with awkwardness. I was doing my best to make him feel comfortable, when up walked my dumbass co-worker Bucko. With
his wild thicket of hair, sleeveless t-shirt showcasing his hairy
shoulders, and mouth-gaping stoned expression, Bucko has the general
appearance and demeanor of a retarded Grizzly Bear. After
a decade long binge of narcotics and beef jerky, he has fried the link
between his brain and mouth and says whatever is on his mind. Bucko looked at pipsqueak Daniel and said to him, "I love boning Asian chicks."

Daniel was so mortified that he practically broke out in a full body rash. I sent him to get some water and, hopefully, avoid a lawsuit. Then I gave Bucko a fiery reprimanded, telling him his comment was highly inappropriate. Bucko just gave me blank stare. He scratched at his nuts and asked, "Why do you hate freedom?"

I walked away befuddled. When
I got to the employee lounge, I came across a squirrely looking dude
named Rafalski hunched over in the refrigerator tearing through
people’s lunches. He methodically dismantled every lunch bag, Tupperware, and take-out box. But shockingly, he just ate the meat in the lunches. Rafalski peeled back the bread of a sandwich, slid the deli meat in his mouth, and then put the bread, lettuce, and tomato back. He unfolded a tortilla shell, picked through the beans and veggies, and slurped up the chopped pork. When I loudly cleared my throat, he abruptly stood up. Rafalski looked at me with weird googley eyes and wiped his mouth.

"What?" he shrugged, the carnivorous pile spilling from his cheek. Then he gave me the finger and walked off the job in the middle of his shift.

Exactly.