Shipping shortage has me trying to break through the cardboard ceiling

Once again, I, the protagonist, was faced with a challenge. There was apparently a worldwide shipping shortage and a great need for all levels of transportation/shipping employees. From the people who made the pallets, to the people who put things in boxes to the upper level heroes, the truck drivers--all were in demand. 

I found myself in a facility that was made up of a rag-tag group of scruffs, which included Jose, aka CarWashy, who was attempting to teach me to operate a cheap electric pallet jack. I was kinda getting the hang of it. Kinda. 

I figured out the handlebar control buttons and was doing some practice runs around the warehouse floor, negotiating cardboard pallets that were all awaiting products to be placed on them for shipping. After mastering the controls, I took it out on the grass and opened it up, bouncing over the lumpy terrain at a most unprofessional speed. 

Inside the warehouse, most of the shipping needs consisted of people's household items to be moved across country. I was learning the ropes of box building, among other skills. Ready made cardboard boxes were in short supply. Pallets were non-existent. Both had to be made from flats of old cardboard and tape and were flimsily constructed, barely able to perform their function. 

I had one particular order that I was going to see through to completion, though, even if it meant I was going to have to learn to drive an 18-wheeler. It was a guy's entire life's possessions, including a couple of cats. 

I was first tasked with just hanging out in his house to make sure vandals didn't come and rob the joint while awaiting the next available truck. That was no biggie. Just hang around and pet the cats, or try to, as they were a bit shy. 

I was really itching to get the job done, but I kept running into resistance. Robert Eckerman, a nurse at Yuba Sutter Behavioral Health, on this side of dreamland, was my chief opponent. He kept stalling the move with various excuses and putting the ship date way off into the future. I told him I had all of the customer's merchandise packaged and I'd drive it to their house myself, if need be. 

Before all of his hemming and hawing, while I was still in the early stages of my transportation career, I had been a part of a massive move that required more truck drivers than were present. People were being conscripted to drive big rigs if they had even the slightest experience. I had absolutely zero, a fact which I kept hidden until it was almost time for me to jump in and drive one of the massive 21 speeds. 

I finally asked someone if it would be possible for someone to teach me the basics in less than 1 day. At that point I was ejected from the driver's seat and told that I'd have to start at the bottom of the chain, making cardboard pallets and boxes. It wasn't a surprise, really, the cardboard ceiling was real, and I was too much of a pampered pansy to qualify for the coveted job of truck driver in the upside-down pyramid of anti-privilege. I had a lot to learn. 

                                                              Heather Wade
 

When I'd built my first box, it was for Tex, who had two kids at the time, and looked a lot like Heather Wade, a now defunct radio host. She was moving and needed a box to be shipped to her new location. 

I visited her at her house, saw her kids and pets, which I commented were "just the cutest things." They were, too. She had miniature cows on her roof, roaming about like cats out for a stroll. 

I was determined to help her, but as I mentioned, Robert Eckerman was the antagonist in this situation, with his bureaucratic nonsense about legal shipping days and whatnot. I threatened to use FedEx, but that had no validity since they didn't work on Sunday, either. I was going to do the driving myself, even if I had to use my own car to do it. 

And that's the way the dream wound up. I have to mention that the LED, which has been on since Jan 23, is still on. It took a one day vacation on Super Bowl Sunday, which made me think that Sharon had abandoned me forever (again). 

But after just enough time for me to express all my doubts to my psychic friend, it was back on and has been on since. I try asking it questions, but mostly I just tell it that I'm glad it's back, that Sharon is back, since that's what I've come to accept that it means. 

Why she'd hang around with me at this point is a mystery, though. I'm very boring these days. Even my dreams of a cardboard shipping empire are more interesting than what goes on in this room day after day.