By Lindsay McLeod. Queenstown, SA, Australia
The three of us split stock in the warehouse, one on the forklift, two on the floor. It can be complicated and it’s physically demanding. We’re used to it but it gets boring, so we come up with games to break up the day. We play the ALPHABET BAND GAME, each of us saying a band that starts with A: ABBA; Aerosmith; Arctic Monkeys; and so on, until we run out. The last man standing wins and we reset to B. We bought some speakers between us and we have our music playing loud.
We usually work together. We know what we’re doing and we’re fast, so the bosses leave us alone. We are ‘mature aged’ and ‘don’t suffer fools gladly’ so most of the other workers leave us alone, too. We’re supposed to rotate, to give everyone a go at sitting on the fork, but Dex did his hamstring a while back. Possum’s eyes are kinda fucked, which means he has trouble reading the paperwork. And me, I just like walking and lifting, so we let Dex sit on the fork.
Dex is a history (channel) buff and always has a new conspiracy theory to discuss, be it JFK, 9/11, Hitler’s escape, or alien cover-ups. He hit a rough patch a few years ago when his missus took off and he ended up living back with his mum. Dex likes cider and footy. He’s a large, loud, opinionated man and of the three of us probably the Big Billy Goats Gruff. Most people are (just quietly) afraid of him, but Possum and I know better.
Possum had a pretty rough start because of his dad. But he made some money back there and bought a couple of houses. He likes four wheel drives and boats. Since I’ve known him, he’s never taken a day off in three and a half years. He tried to book annual leave once but that turned out to be a public holiday. Poss is the quiet one. Maybe it’s because he needs to get his teeth fixed. He looks like he could eat an apple through a tennis racket. He is one of the most potentially violent, generous men I have ever met.
I live alone, all my kids are grown and gone. I have a couple of degrees, but I don’t say much about it at work. If I do people ask, “Well what are you doing here?” I tell them what they want to hear. I say, “I’m here because I’m a dickhead.” Then I ask them, “So why are you here?” The smart ones reply in the same way. All the other dickheads come up with a shitload of excuses that all boil down to the same thing.
Another game we play is IF WE HAD A TIME MACHINE. It’s our favourite. It’s an attachment that we often fit onto the forklift. We posit different scenarios: what we would do; when we would go and where; who we would save; what we would change; who we would meet. We fiddle with the settings on the Time Fork. Language, culture, race, custom, dress, and money all pose no barriers. It’s all automatic. Piece o’ piss.
One time we are allowed to go back for a couple of hours anywhere, anywhen and bring back anything, as long as we can fit it in our pockets. But think quick and answer now! Dex’s bringing back American silver dollars, I opt for gold but Possum wants boats, so he’s bringing back the Titanic and Noah’s Ark. There’s a formal protest because of the pocket clause but Poss says, “If we’re smart enough to build a bloody time machine we’re smart enough to invent a bloody shrink ray.” Dex and I both nod. There’s no question. He’s right.
This time, we’re allowed to go back and deliver a message to someone that we know personally. We agree we can’t visit our selves, not because of any warp in the space/time continuum, but because the three of us would’ve been just too pigheaded to listen. It has to be someone else. We give it a bit of thought and we are all confident that we can get our choices to listen.
Dex is going back ten years. He’s going to tell his old man to get checked for bowel cancer. I’m going back to just after I was born. I’ll tell my mother that the problem with her leg is a blood clot and to see a proper doctor before she loses her foot. Possum says he’s going back to make sure his mother never meets his father. I say, “You dickhead! If you do that you’ll never be born!” and Dex and I both laugh. Possum stops what he’s doing, gets a certain look, and growls, “I know what I fucking said.” And we all go quiet.
When we get back from lunch, there’s still a bit of tension around us until Dex suggests, “Bands starting with A. Me first. AC/DC.”
Possum smiles and says, “Ah, but can you spell it?”
Dex and I smile, too, and I say, “Alice in Chains.”
