The warehouse was empty and silent. Firstly, I stretched my arms, and then I stretched my legs- my breathing strong and confident against the cool air in the warehouse. Decisively, I placed my hands on the cardboard box in front of me, I faced forward and bent my legs, keeping my balance expertly on my toes. I prepare myself for the off: the breaking of the silence, and the making of me.
Three… two… one…
And there I go, and it’s fucking fantastic. I pushed the cardboard box full of coathangers to the other end of the warehouse and it was totally exhilarating! The motionless rails of clothes either side of me waft slightly as I make my path towards the finishing line- they were all very impressed, they just didn’t know it yet- until, finally, ‘HOORAY!’ I do a little victory dance at the end of the warehouse, and go back panting, to the start line.
I was quite thankful that the checkout team had dumped all these unsightly boxes in our warehouse because now I got to move them. My job was awesome. I pushed the next lot down at break-neck speed and giggled incessantly to myself as I thought of how this should be an Olympic sport and how I should be the champion.
Billie came in the warehouse as I made my third trip. ‘Billie! Billie! This should be an Olympic sport! Ha ha ha ha ha HA HA HA!’ Billie didn’t laugh and instead rolled her eyes and left. Probably just jealous. Of my awesome athleticism.
But it didn’t bother me- for the last load of boxes, I really went for it- the artificial air brushing against my skin as I ran, two boxes in front of me… but then, oh no! A wrong turn sent me spiralling across the floor, and smashing into all the other coathanger boxes, causing them to spill out and crush me with their nasty metal bits and general plastic aggression.
Years later, when Coathanger Box Pushing would become an Olympic sport, Billie would go on to win Gold and I would sit crying in my living room, eating cheese on toast, and generally just being a miserable fucker.