Nothing interesting today...
Mar. 26th, 2004 10:51 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lavandarlizard2...Just a day of surreality. Is that a word? Eh, it is now.
Started out as a boring day from hell. Called a supplier to report that some jackoff either in their warehouse or with the trucking company, stuck a fork into a couple of bags of... stuff that we received yesterday. Maybe we'll actually get credit, but I won't hold my breath.
Then, things started to liven up. Someone discovered a *rat* in the warehouse yesterday. Called the ratkiller; he set out snap traps, Mickey Rat would soon be history. Hah! Mickey Rat laughed at the snap traps, and flipped us off by chewing into a bag of flour, *between* two traps. So, today everyone is running around losing their minds. We make nutritional products; we cannot have vermin roaming the wild beige warehouse. The FDA would have a stroke. Unfortunately, we are located in an industrial *park*, emphasis on that word, *park*. Wherever there is not a building, there is a field. We've had a wet winter, which means the vegetation is going berserk, which leads to an increase in the rodent population. And there we are, with bags and bags of nice, tasty rice flour and gelatin, just begging to be munched on. Now, everyone is scrambling to find barrels to transfer the powders into.
Into that crisis, insert a deadline for delivery of a product. The stuff is due at the customer's warehouse today. At 0930, it's still sitting at the packer's, seventy miles away. Can't get a same day *on* the same day. Quick! Rent a truck and go get it! Oh no! The man with the credit card isn't in today! No truck rental without the card. Take the weasel's truck! ...god... no... please... four hours with the weasel? just shoot me now...
So, I open my mouth, and out plops, we can take my truck. Half an hour later, my buddy and I are sailing up to Anaheim. (Hmm... there's that Mickey theme again...) Get to the place; it's not 25 boxes, it's 200! And the frigging pallet won't fit in the bed. Well, the *pallet* would, but they built it so that the boxes hang over slightly all around, so no, it won't fit. Another half hour spent hand-stacking 200 little boxes into the bed and the supercab. *sigh* Shiny Shoes is dead meat when we get back. Back on the road. Traffic is heavier coming back. The psychos are out early on their weekend passes. Negative perspiration. We make it back in one piece, though it was a near thing with that dual tanker...
The elves pull their samples; all is saved.
But wait! Horrors! A mistake has been made! Packer put the wrong lot number on the product. Shiny Shoes has coronary, drops over twitching on the concrete. Well, okay; he didn't *actually*. But it was a near thing. He tries to get QA to release it anyway; planning a cross-referance to account for the lot number discrepancy. QA refuses. The world crumbles to dust. Shiny Shoes sharpens his sword in preparation for falling on it.
And that was at 1600, when I hauled ass outta there.
I'm actually looking forward to Monday...
I think the New Jersey vibe may be working...
Started out as a boring day from hell. Called a supplier to report that some jackoff either in their warehouse or with the trucking company, stuck a fork into a couple of bags of... stuff that we received yesterday. Maybe we'll actually get credit, but I won't hold my breath.
Then, things started to liven up. Someone discovered a *rat* in the warehouse yesterday. Called the ratkiller; he set out snap traps, Mickey Rat would soon be history. Hah! Mickey Rat laughed at the snap traps, and flipped us off by chewing into a bag of flour, *between* two traps. So, today everyone is running around losing their minds. We make nutritional products; we cannot have vermin roaming the wild beige warehouse. The FDA would have a stroke. Unfortunately, we are located in an industrial *park*, emphasis on that word, *park*. Wherever there is not a building, there is a field. We've had a wet winter, which means the vegetation is going berserk, which leads to an increase in the rodent population. And there we are, with bags and bags of nice, tasty rice flour and gelatin, just begging to be munched on. Now, everyone is scrambling to find barrels to transfer the powders into.
Into that crisis, insert a deadline for delivery of a product. The stuff is due at the customer's warehouse today. At 0930, it's still sitting at the packer's, seventy miles away. Can't get a same day *on* the same day. Quick! Rent a truck and go get it! Oh no! The man with the credit card isn't in today! No truck rental without the card. Take the weasel's truck! ...god... no... please... four hours with the weasel? just shoot me now...
So, I open my mouth, and out plops, we can take my truck. Half an hour later, my buddy and I are sailing up to Anaheim. (Hmm... there's that Mickey theme again...) Get to the place; it's not 25 boxes, it's 200! And the frigging pallet won't fit in the bed. Well, the *pallet* would, but they built it so that the boxes hang over slightly all around, so no, it won't fit. Another half hour spent hand-stacking 200 little boxes into the bed and the supercab. *sigh* Shiny Shoes is dead meat when we get back. Back on the road. Traffic is heavier coming back. The psychos are out early on their weekend passes. Negative perspiration. We make it back in one piece, though it was a near thing with that dual tanker...
The elves pull their samples; all is saved.
But wait! Horrors! A mistake has been made! Packer put the wrong lot number on the product. Shiny Shoes has coronary, drops over twitching on the concrete. Well, okay; he didn't *actually*. But it was a near thing. He tries to get QA to release it anyway; planning a cross-referance to account for the lot number discrepancy. QA refuses. The world crumbles to dust. Shiny Shoes sharpens his sword in preparation for falling on it.
And that was at 1600, when I hauled ass outta there.
I'm actually looking forward to Monday...
I think the New Jersey vibe may be working...
