Pallets, Jacks, and the Soft Sounds of the 70's OR My Summer Summed Up Summarily for a Small Sum

A poem about the experience of working at a Home Depot one summer

Pallets, Jacks, and the Soft Sounds of the 70's
OR
My Summer Summed Up Summarily for a Small Sum

A constant beeping chirp echoes through the warehouse, strangely comforting the workers who walk these aisles and habitually straighten shelves and relocate displays like worker ants with no aim, no direction, save a blind duty to an ambiguous corporate goal

And somewhere on aisle 12, a man is looking for a pipe fitting for a third bathroom he doesn't need; unaware that the part he actually does need is waiting patiently on aisle 33

And the soft sounds of the 70's hover over the warehouse

Up on a ladder on aisle 50, an associate is pulling down a box of "product" for a customer intending to murder small rodents (the poison debris scattered about in the aisle does not seem to bother anyone)

And the soft sounds of the 70's waft through the breakroom

Roberto has been coming in at 5 am every morning for the last 13 years to sweep these aisles; his broom seems to move independently, acutely aware of the efficient pattern established, and the constant ache in his lower spine

And the soft sounds of the 70's breathe through the garden center

Over in the lumber aisles, a contractor inexplicably named Joe eyes a stack of 2x6's for his latest job
Business has been slow lately and he needs the work (and little Maggie needs school clothes again)

And the soft sounds of the 70’s echo in and out of the hardware section

Sally at the Pro-Desk is friendly, energetic, and drives a forklift better than any man on the premises
She may have been a waitress at hole-in-the-wall diner years ago, but she wears her blue-collar persona comfortably, like a lab coat
She knows what she knows

And the soft sounds of the 70’s slide into the sub consciousness of every associate swimming slowly upstream

"This was not my first career choice" grumbles Doug in Hardware as he hangs tool belts on aisle 14
A career in oil exploration took him to South America for 15 years until it brought him back to the states, with a promise of management infused income
A recession hit and that promise shattered, along with financial stability and steady work

Those who wear the orange apron as they roam these aisles and march to the soothing sounds of the 70's are cryptically connected by the mantra of "let's get moving", but many long for pasts when futures seemed brighter and a time when the apron no longer feels like a yoke, hanging on the collared necks of persons who need their burdens lightened from life's constant rain drops