euphorbic:

This was
back when I was working the late shift at a shipping hub that was later bought
by FedEx.

I worked
sorting in unload. One of my duties was pushing boxes onto different conveyor
belts that would deliver the goods to three different banks of trucks. People
on those belts would load individual trucks for local deliveries in the
morning. The other, more entertaining (and unofficial) duty was breaking box jams on the conveyor belts.

Getting
on the conveyor belts at all, of course, was strictly no. But, when
you have a box jam in one of the conveyor turns there’s little choice.

The anatomy
of a jam is simple; a long box didn’t make the turn or a tire didn’t go
down the slide and packages are piling up behind. Maybe too many boxes came
down from unload at once. Or, more likely, some asshole overloaded a shitty
cardboard box. On this frigid night, it was a combination of the last two.

I was
waiting for another truck to deposit a trailer in my bay. To pass time and keep
warm, (and to play with my Pikachu pedometer) I was walking in place on the conveyor (okay, I did this a lot) to keep warm while another guy was
sorting to the east of me; his unloader was feeding his conveyor like he was
possessed. Maybe possessed by the spirit of meth.

As I
walked in place I would surreptitiously check on my Pikachu. However, even as I knew the joy of having walked enough
to get Pikachu to do a new trick, a red light started flashing and the jam alarm
went off. 

Since I was on the belts already, I took off for the corner where
most of the jams happen. Radio chatter confirmed the jam. There’s very little
overhead clearance there so if I went that way I would usually sit down or ride
a box. For a jam though I had to run hunched over. It’s a dark, elevated, and
full of boxes.

The jam
wasn’t the worst I’d seen but there were some flimsy boxes getting crushed. I realized
that those boxes would probably free the jam up if I could pull them. I pulled and threw boxes past the jam as fast as I could, but the bottom of
the biggest flimsy boxes had been worn down by the conveyor belt’s friction.
When I grabbed it to pull it free, the box’s bottom flap got caught and the box ripped apart.

A big
black plastic bag came out of the box and I knew that was going to make things
worse, so I grabbed it next (all
while walking backwards to avoid getting sucked into the jam myself). But it was, of course, too late; the plastic got caught and
when I pulled, the bag ripped open and colorful silicone contents started
tumbling out, down the slide, and onto the conveyor belt that goes to the
trucks.

What I saw took me a while to process. I just
stared while shuffling backwards. The jam was freed, sure, but so was an
avalanche of unpackaged dildos.

After only a few seconds the supervisor radios
started to erupt with commentary.

“Sex toy
invasion on K-1.”

“Hello,
QA, we have free range dildos on K-1.”

“Exclusive
dildogate coverage live on K-1.”

It was
all fun and games (people were either dying from hilarity or really grossed
out) until somebody found the boxes’ label. None of the dildos had packaging because
it was a box full of returns.