What the truck dumped
On the screen, a clowder of felines. More precisely, a glaring. At my end, sinus drip: the very sight of cats can provoke an allergic reaction. Psychosomatic, possibly. Uncomfortable, definitely. Thank you, the gang at Big Bang Theory.
Now that I’ve cleared the room (channel change), I’ll carry on with an episode from my life. I call it The Truck Dump.
I got tagged to go to the loading area at the back of our building. Not a dock; actually just doors that lead into the labyrinth. And outside, the gaping interior of a large delivery truck. The driver, busily manipulating that lift and slide thingie of his for moving heavy pallets (I have no idea what the proper name might be) suggested that I seek some friends “with big arms”, since the load might be more than I could handle before the rain resumed. Tare weight: 68 kg/150lbs. Less than me, but more than enough to put my back out for weeks to come.
Our new rack was here. In the driveway, since trucking firms don’t drag things inside any more. Wrapped in an environmental overload of plastic, bolted to a pallet, too tall to be mistaken for anything useful. Doors at both ends, stuff packed inside. A beast. The building concièrge had some wrenches and a dolly, and the lead programmer had the willing demeanor of youth. We were a ready, if odd, team for getting the rack from outside to its place in the server room.
But, we were stubborn. In a matter of minutes (OK, more than a few), we had the rack unbolted, unwrapped and inside. There were tiny wheels, so I didn’t have to make permanent grooves in the floor tile. The boss even came by to watch (don’t bosses have real things to do with their time?)
