Gifts
Posted: Wed Oct 23, 2019 7:24 am
No, we haven't gone away. Got 2 novels in process, 2 on the back burner, and more RL than i care to deal with.
However, inspiration pops up in the oddest places...so a small anecdote from RE.
A business like Richer Engineering receives and dispatches many parcels in an average day – and today was no exception.
The dispatch truck backed to the dock and Smokey and John were there to meet it. The outgoing shipment was on the shelf and they waited with loading equipment to receive the incoming items.
“Got a good load for you today – got a pallet jack? Two pallets – one a crate and one loaded with packages.” The driver, a bluff, jovial man said. As he did he went to the shelf and began to scan the incoming packages to receive them into the system.
As he did John and Smokey, more than familiar with the routine, began their work. Armed with a hydraulic pallet lift the pulled out their shipment and began to sort it. With that clear the driver loaded the fresh packages, waved, slid down the door and was off to his next pickup.
“So, what did we get, eh? Give’r!” John joked, as he examined the packages.
“Got the transmission for that Classic – here’s hopin’ it fits better’n the last one. That dayum thing was a mess. Rest of it looks like the usual…what’s this? Got a personal for Al from…Boston. Let’s dig that’un out ‘n get it to him.”
With a packing knife Smokey slashed away the shrink wrap on the second pallet and began to sort through the boxes. Sorting them to their various destinations he worked his way down until the item for Al was received.
It was an old box – no doubt of that. On the exterior half-effaced writing was seen on the sides, and a little study proved the lettering to be Cyrillic. The tape holding the bottom closed was old as well and scuffed from the moves the box had taken in its existence.
The tape on the top was different – the old tape had been slit and the package opened, and then the box taped closed again. Also affixed to the top was a shipping label, secured with the same packing tape. The shipping address was Richer Engineering, as expected, with the addition “St-Maj Richer – Personal” but the source address was odd.
It read:
Vladimir
878 Massachusetts Ave, Cambridge, MA 02139
“Oh, HAYULL.” Smokey was not pleased.
“What’s up?” John was confused, both at the odd-looking package and at his colleague’s reaction.
“Ah’ll tell y’all whut’s wrong – lookit the name on this.” Smokey’s accent, like Greg’s, invariably presented during stressful moments – and this was certainly one.
“Vladimir? Isn’t that the gent Al took the Chaika from?”
“Hayull yes. An’ somehow I don’ think this here’s the keys and th’ owner’s manual to go with it.”
Both stared at the package, and then John nudged Smokey and said, “Well, pick it up.”
“Pick it up? Whay in hayll should AH pick it up? YOU pick it up!”
John was unrepentant. “Age before beauty, eh? I’m younger and have more to live for.”
“Hayull, No! YOU do it.”
“Match you.” A quick game of rock, paper scissors ensued and John grumblingly picked up the box, then froze.
“Whut?”
Immobile, John whispered, “It’s TICKING…”
Both men froze. Slowly Smokey reached toward his pocket and slid out his phone. Continuing to move slowly he punched and swiped, then held it to his ear.
“Uh, Wing? Kin y’all come down here t’ the shipping dock ‘n give us a hand? We got us a situation…”
Wing stared at the package, which had been gently deposited on the shipping table by the door.
“Now, you two chuckleheads take it from the top. What, exactly, is the issue here?”
Smokey spoke. “Well, Wing, this here package is from Vladimir…in Boston…and it’s tickin’. Considering Vladimir ‘n Al…got history…we kinda didn’t think disturbin’ it’d be a good idea.”
Wing snorted. “This came in as part of a regular shipment delivery and was shipped by standard means across the country and you guys are afraid to talk around it? THINK.”
The statement was not lost on the elderly mechanics. They both straightened sheepishly and grinned. Smokey, however, was not letting go. “Wing, it may not be shock-sensitive, but it IS tickin’…an’ Al and Vladimir don’t have much of a love affair goin’ on even though they made friends.”
Wing snorted again. “Fine.”
Approaching the box she breathed in deeply, then again.
“Cardboard, tape, metals, machine oil, glass, rubber…nothing particularly hazardous. I’ll take it up to him.”
Both mechanics looked relieved. Wing scooped up the box and walked off.
Smokey looked annoyed at himself. “Panickin’ pair both of us.” he said.
John disagreed. “Panicked we may be, wrong…not so much. Crazy stuff happens around here, and let’s face it…weird stuff collects around Al, eh?”
Smokey thought for a moment, then nodded. “Sure ‘nuff. So, what else we got here?” With that, they returned to work.
However, inspiration pops up in the oddest places...so a small anecdote from RE.
A business like Richer Engineering receives and dispatches many parcels in an average day – and today was no exception.
The dispatch truck backed to the dock and Smokey and John were there to meet it. The outgoing shipment was on the shelf and they waited with loading equipment to receive the incoming items.
“Got a good load for you today – got a pallet jack? Two pallets – one a crate and one loaded with packages.” The driver, a bluff, jovial man said. As he did he went to the shelf and began to scan the incoming packages to receive them into the system.
As he did John and Smokey, more than familiar with the routine, began their work. Armed with a hydraulic pallet lift the pulled out their shipment and began to sort it. With that clear the driver loaded the fresh packages, waved, slid down the door and was off to his next pickup.
“So, what did we get, eh? Give’r!” John joked, as he examined the packages.
“Got the transmission for that Classic – here’s hopin’ it fits better’n the last one. That dayum thing was a mess. Rest of it looks like the usual…what’s this? Got a personal for Al from…Boston. Let’s dig that’un out ‘n get it to him.”
With a packing knife Smokey slashed away the shrink wrap on the second pallet and began to sort through the boxes. Sorting them to their various destinations he worked his way down until the item for Al was received.
It was an old box – no doubt of that. On the exterior half-effaced writing was seen on the sides, and a little study proved the lettering to be Cyrillic. The tape holding the bottom closed was old as well and scuffed from the moves the box had taken in its existence.
The tape on the top was different – the old tape had been slit and the package opened, and then the box taped closed again. Also affixed to the top was a shipping label, secured with the same packing tape. The shipping address was Richer Engineering, as expected, with the addition “St-Maj Richer – Personal” but the source address was odd.
It read:
Vladimir
878 Massachusetts Ave, Cambridge, MA 02139
“Oh, HAYULL.” Smokey was not pleased.
“What’s up?” John was confused, both at the odd-looking package and at his colleague’s reaction.
“Ah’ll tell y’all whut’s wrong – lookit the name on this.” Smokey’s accent, like Greg’s, invariably presented during stressful moments – and this was certainly one.
“Vladimir? Isn’t that the gent Al took the Chaika from?”
“Hayull yes. An’ somehow I don’ think this here’s the keys and th’ owner’s manual to go with it.”
Both stared at the package, and then John nudged Smokey and said, “Well, pick it up.”
“Pick it up? Whay in hayll should AH pick it up? YOU pick it up!”
John was unrepentant. “Age before beauty, eh? I’m younger and have more to live for.”
“Hayull, No! YOU do it.”
“Match you.” A quick game of rock, paper scissors ensued and John grumblingly picked up the box, then froze.
“Whut?”
Immobile, John whispered, “It’s TICKING…”
Both men froze. Slowly Smokey reached toward his pocket and slid out his phone. Continuing to move slowly he punched and swiped, then held it to his ear.
“Uh, Wing? Kin y’all come down here t’ the shipping dock ‘n give us a hand? We got us a situation…”
Wing stared at the package, which had been gently deposited on the shipping table by the door.
“Now, you two chuckleheads take it from the top. What, exactly, is the issue here?”
Smokey spoke. “Well, Wing, this here package is from Vladimir…in Boston…and it’s tickin’. Considering Vladimir ‘n Al…got history…we kinda didn’t think disturbin’ it’d be a good idea.”
Wing snorted. “This came in as part of a regular shipment delivery and was shipped by standard means across the country and you guys are afraid to talk around it? THINK.”
The statement was not lost on the elderly mechanics. They both straightened sheepishly and grinned. Smokey, however, was not letting go. “Wing, it may not be shock-sensitive, but it IS tickin’…an’ Al and Vladimir don’t have much of a love affair goin’ on even though they made friends.”
Wing snorted again. “Fine.”
Approaching the box she breathed in deeply, then again.
“Cardboard, tape, metals, machine oil, glass, rubber…nothing particularly hazardous. I’ll take it up to him.”
Both mechanics looked relieved. Wing scooped up the box and walked off.
Smokey looked annoyed at himself. “Panickin’ pair both of us.” he said.
John disagreed. “Panicked we may be, wrong…not so much. Crazy stuff happens around here, and let’s face it…weird stuff collects around Al, eh?”
Smokey thought for a moment, then nodded. “Sure ‘nuff. So, what else we got here?” With that, they returned to work.