Don’t Cry Over Spilled Milk

I usually don’t blog about what goes on at work. But I am making an exception because Thursday was bone crushing draining day. And I know you all will thoroughly enjoy this.

Because it involves me and totes of milk, so hold on tight.

The day started out decently, but I should have known when truck was forty minutes late that a disaster was looming in the horizon.

Then my truck partner told me there were one hundred and two totes of milk.

Yes, 102. I didn’t stutter.

Let me explain the process of how we get all this milk into the cooler. First, all the milk remaining in the cooler is pulled forward so all the new milk comes in it can be put behind the old milk. The truck driver sends the milk down off the truck and my truck partner stacks it five totes high. This is where I come in.

I am supposed to use a dolly to move the totes to the cooler.

Now, this would be fine and dandy if I was a six foot man who weighted at least a hundred and fifty pounds. But I am not.

I am five foot six woman who weighs roughly a hundred and twenty five pounds, give or take some inches or pounds.

Oh yeah, each tote has four gallons of milk in it.

That’s four hundred and eight gallons of milk.

Yes, 408. I didn’t stutter. That’s twenty gallons per trip.

It is the quite a work out.

The picture I create while moving these totes is comical. Because the totes obviously weigh several times my weight, I have to rock the totes to get the dolly under them. Then I have do this awkward jumping while rocking the totes again to get the dolly to lean back on its wheels. This process usual consists of me getting my fingers pinched, but I am none the worse for wear.

Once I have the dolly leaned on its wheels I have to maneuver it into the cooler. So away I go weaving back and forth, trying to hold up under the load praying I don’t run into a customer.

Well I should have been looking out for the cooler shelving instead of customers.

As I staggered into the cooler with my third load of milk I catch the edge of a tote on bottom of the energy drink shelving.

In slow the motion I watch as twenty gallons of milk topple.

I was in even slower motion as a lake of 1% Nature’s Touch milk is made in the cooler.

There are still eighty seven totes left.

Groan. This is not what I meant when I wrote Embracing My Clumsiness.

But am I surprised this unfortunate event happened to me?

NO?

I actually expected it. I mean come on? You should have known, me trying to haul even two totes of milk could be dangerous.

That’s why I can’t cry over spilled milk.

Happy New Year’s!

Embracing My Clumsiness

Let me introduce you to the clumsiest person in the world. Yeah, that would be me. Hi world, howya doin’?

As you know it is customary for me to share my less than stellar moments on my blog. Today I won’t disappoint you. Actually, you’ll get two, no, three of these moments for the price of one.

For someone who can break into a pretty good groove on the dance floor, I have found that there is absolutely no translation of this gracefulness when it comes to every day actions; like walking or even holding things for that matter.

Yesterday illustrated this perfectly.

First, I walked into a swinging door. Yeah. And it wasn’t your usual full size door either. It was one of the short ‘bar’ doors that comes up to you waist; usually found by counters. My luck was that I walked straight into this swinging door right after someone had sung it open. So it didn’t harmlessly bounce off my thighs. Nope, it pretty much killed my left ovary. 

 I am seriously worried I won’t be able to produce the siblings I promised Darren he would have.

Second, I made a spectacle at my work’s family night and since it is ‘family’ night, my lovely hubby and Darren were with me. Darren, being the charmer that he is, was a complete hit. Me, on the other hand took the rap for Darren dropping his bottle, which would not have been so bad if it hadn’t been glass.

Yeah. I made the mistake of unathletically trying to catch it.

“Really, a glass bottle?” Cindalicious

“I would be really embarrassed right now if I were you.” The hubby pointed out with his customary grin.

“Who give a baby a glass bottle?” Some random guy.

Um. Yeah. I do. You got a problem with it? The clean up better than the plastic ones. 

The hubby keeps throwing his five cents in once I start mopping the mess up.

“Babe, are you sure you’ve mopped before?”

Cindalicous (the traitor) snorts and laughs. Obviously the hubby is a hit tonight to.  But she does get points for helping me sweep up the glass.

I wish it ended there. For those who stayed the show got better. Because a half an hour later I drop a cup of Lemon-Lime Lemonade slushy about two feet away from the shattered bottle incident.

Yeah, so I tolerated the jibes about the actual contents of the slushy and cleaned the mess up. The hubby adds a quarter to his ever present comment jar.

“I would like to say, that I am use to this. She is even worse at home.”

But really what took the cake about all these mishaps was this morning. 

The hubby woke up giggling.

When I asked him what was so funny he says he just remember what happened last night.

I just rolled my eyes. “Really, you know I’ve done worse, that was nothing.”

“Yeah, that was funny, but what was funnier was that you actually tried to keep the nipple from the bottle.” He says this with his man giggle.

Jeez. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. What a SA.