The next day, I arrived promptly so I might end up getting changed at the same time as Emily again. Unfortunately she had beaten me to it, and as I got changed she explained in her efficient way what I was going to be doing.
"These are deliveries being sent out by van," she explained. "Make sure there everything that's on the list is there before they arrive to load it up. We'll also be getting deliveries, so you'll have to look at that too."
This seemed like it was going to be a lot less fun than the counter. I got my clipboard and went around the loading bay, making sure everything that was meant to be there was ready to be taken away. Everything was sealed into boxes, though, so I wasn't going to get my usual snacking privileges.
I had arrived at seven in the morning, and by eight I was starving. I'd had a hearty breakfast of course, but there's nothing like the smell of a bakery to make you drool. The manifests were written in the messy penmanship of the manager, Emily's boss. You could barely tell the difference, I reflected, between the 9 that was written in beside "Boxes of Danish Pastries" (though it could have been "Pixel up Amish Fastest", I couldn't be sure) and an 8. There were nine boxes in front of me. But one pen stroke was all that was the difference. Not even a stroke, really just a mark...
As the van drove off, I looked at the clock. Twenty minutes until the next van was due to arrive, and there were two dozen Danishes in the box. That was a little more than a pastry a minute. Easy.
My shift was six hours, seven until one, and by the time I was ready to go I was absolutely stuffed to the gills. I had edited down the amount of milk we'd received on the delivery manifest, so I could have something to wash down the box of Danishes, another of bear claws, and three full apple pies I had sneaked over the course of the morning. My swollen and tender stomach jutted visibly out as I pulled my slim-fit t-shirt over it as I changed into my own clothes. I rubbed it thoughtfully
"Hey, Conrad!" I turned, trying to suck it in as Emily came into the locker room carrying a box. "Good job today. We might keep you on inventory for a little while. I thought maybe you'd like these." I took the box, and looked inside, where there were half a dozen pork pies. "They're day-olds, but they should still be good."
I thanked her, and headed on home. The pies were big enough that I could only just hold them in one hand, and I ate all six on the way home, despite how full I was, just out of the sheer joy of gluttony. Could I really keep getting away with this?   indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
| Members who added to this interactive story also contributed to these: |
<<-- Previous · Outline  · Recent Additions © Copyright 2025 Spaghetti Westerner (UN: qwoggle at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Spaghetti Westerner has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work within this interactive story. Poster accepts all responsibility, legal and otherwise, for the content uploaded, submitted to and posted on Writing.Com. |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
More by this author