I train for my job

My name is Tom.

It says it right here on my name tag. I work at a major retailer and they don’t like to advertise this but we sell “everything.”

You may need a Knick knack for a kids party by tomorrow and we will get there today. You want to a copy of your latest smutty book about dragons that’s sold out, we got you covered. We do what we can to provide services.

I work the supply chain of this retailer and I gotta say, we do our best. The pay isn’t great for the amount of work, but— talking with the guys, we all agree, we love working here. There’s something about being able to leave the job, knowing you’ve done the best for everyday people. People like us.

I used to work in a corporate office. I was paid a 6 figure salary. I had benefits, I had a retirement plan. I was a bachelor who enjoyed the company of women, but mostly, I was alone.

You’d think this is the dream. But every day was a little more empty than the last. This was the dream my parents had for me when they came to America. Success, wealth, popularity. But I didn’t want this.

It broke their heart when I told them I was quitting my job, that I had enough money to retire at 29, I’ve made more money than they have in their lifetime, that I was fine.

They stopped talking to me for a while. A patented dream for their children isn’t something so easily cast aside and forgotten about.

In that time off. I tried hobbies, played some sports, learned some cooking skills. Then I volunteered at nursing homes, community centers… None of it helped the “ache”.

I felt this empty thing inside of me, growing, eating me from the inside out. Is this the rest of my life? I would ask that constantly.

Women, money, fame… helping people, causes and charities, is that all there is to life?

Where is the purpose?

I threw myself into the gym, gained decent mass, it helped a little— seeing progress week after week. But I know I’d plateau and be lost again.

Then I got an email. You know the ones, “Mr. Blah blah blah, we received your resume, we’d love to interview you”.

Looking back on it now, I couldn’t tell you why I clicked it. Maybe was bored, maybe I was curious, I mean, I haven’t sent a resume out in years, or maybe I just needed a change.

I don’t have the original email anymore.

But I do remember the job requirements:

1. Must be able to be discreet
2. Must be able to lift the weight of a full grown man.
3. Must be able to clean and maintain work area.
4. Must be able to handle multiple tools and instruments.
5. Must be able to operate a pallet jack.

Five requirements. Some weirder than others. But something pulsed in me. Something that had my attention more than any woman had, more on edge than any shark deal, something more…

I clicked the attached documents. I even had the option to share documents to lawyers, but only after signing an electronic NDA and Noncompetitive agreement. My lawyer read the documents after I assured her that it wasn’t a Joke.

She said, “these are legit legal documents, this is a legitimately new business, their pedigree checked out—“ she huffed in frustration before continuing. “even my insider confirmed it… but tom… as your friend, I can’t help but think signing these would be a mistake.”

I quickly asked, “but as a professional.”

She paused for a moment before fulfilling her legal obligation, “this is a legitimate offer.”

The pay was hourly, I was able to quit anytime and still retain the starting bonus, and the only commitment I had was the NDA and NCA that I had already accepted.

I signed the documents. I started on Monday. My instincts itched at the possibility that this was something… I was searching for.

Monday came faster than I thought it would. I arrived at a company warehouse. There were 5 other men of different ages, heights, weights, and fitness. We talked a bit but quickly ran out of things to say. Yet we all shared a vibe. Like… what we said to each other didn’t mean much. We could give our whole life story but none of us were interested. We were here for one thing only. This job.

Soon after, a woman in overalls took our names, handed us a hard hat each and a name tag before shuffling us into the warehouse.

It is important to note that it was big. Bigger than what you saw on the outside. It had a recessed floor going down three levels, and each, we were told, had a different purpose.

Storage, intake, processing, and shipping was the first level, 2nd was quarantine, row upon rows of medical equipment, materials, packaging, and medicine itself. Finally, the third level was where we would be working.

Donor services.

Taking the elevator down and we were the pushed into a classroom. We were given an orientation, taught how to work their excel spreadsheets, intake material, ship out material, and how to operate, maintain conveyer belts, work tools and equipment, and the pallet jack.

We had a 2 hour course on how to operate a pallet jack.

It wasn’t a fancy electric one either. It was a normal pallet jack.

The woman’s name was Bernadette. A midwestern woman with kind mannerisms, a motherly exterior, but with the body of a farmer who’s worked her whole life. Her hands felt like poured iron, hardened by years of labor.

She was our shift leader. She would handle the work assignments and teach us what we needed to know. After orientation, we were treated to lunch. I can’t say where we went, I don’t want people to know where we are, but, we went to a place that sells amazing chicken. You know the place.

After lunch, we were herded back into the warehouse and down to our floor, to a door we hadn’t been allowed to enter when went into during orientation.

“Alright everyone, since we are wide eyed and bushy tailed, fully fed and ready to go, let’s get to the first stage of the job. it’s your first day, but we’re really gonna try to weed out those of ya who don’t have the stomach for this kind of work.

Pressing a button on her wrist watch. The door opened… hissing as it did, the opening was obscured by long strips of plastic that covered the entrance to stop bugs getting in. We followed Bernadette into the area and halogen lighting clicked on.We had to blink a couple times to get used to it but when we did… a part of me wished I hadn’t. White tiles lined the floors, creeped up the walls, but stopped at conveyer line on the ceiling, hooks— hanging from them. 7 bodies, wrapped in plastic tape hung from them. One for each hook in this space.

It’s important to note, that the hooks had a padded Velcro restraint wrapping around the ankles of the person. Each one seemed to be male, with closely cropped hair, different nationalities, and ages. They weren’t moving. Bernadette walked over to the right wall that I now noticed person protective equipment. PPE for short.

A face shield, lab gown, lab coat, gloves, Shoe covers, and what looked to be a gun. 7 identical piles. One for each of us. My stomach lurched. What the fuck is this?

One of the guys… Taylor, he was a 19 year old kid. He was a former linebacker in high school. We was being scouted for a big nfl team. He was seriously that good. Until his knee injury that took him out for half a season. Then rumors of assault spread, and even when he recovered, no one would touch him. He was brave though. He voiced our thoughts.

“What is this!? Some sort of sick joke?”

Bernadette gave him an odd look, strapping on her face shield, and grabbing her “gun”. It looked too big to be a gun, gun shaped but not a real gun. Almost like a toy. I learned later that it was pneumatic bolt gun.

“Taylor, this is the job, donor services.” She said it in a professional but blunt tone of voice, “remember in orientation, we talked about procuring materials and operating machinery?” She pointed to the bodies and the conveyer line.

“We’re procuring people?! That wasn’t in the job description. I don’t wanna kill anyone!” Taylor shouted in horror. It’s strange to say now, but I feel bad for him. He was just a kid who thought he knew what he was doing when he signed up for this job. I remembered the pay and while for me, it was nothing, for a teenager? it was a fortune. Hospital bills are expensive.

Bernadette nodded sagely. “Yes. We are. Our company is expanding into medical services. When someone needs a kidney, blood from a specific donor, an eye, or even skin, we procure and ship it out same day. It was all covered in the training.”

To be fair. It had been. They’d gone over how to document, access, and store material. We take the product, push it along the conveyor into machinery, which automated the process, and out came the necessary parts. Then we documented, assured quality, and stored before shipping.

They never said when we would receive it though. And how. They just said we’d get the freshest quality of parts so our clients received the best care. They made it sound so… hopeful. Like we were going to accomplish a greater goal. Together. I was going to be a part of something. I wanted to be a part of something that mattered.

Bernadette was going to say more but Taylor made a break for the door. It was closed. Locked tight. Pneumatically sealed. I remember how the plastic sheeting flew around his flailing arms. He was taller than Bernadette. He outweighed her by 100 pounds, give or take. But Bernadette was an experience wrangler. She grabbed his elbow, twisted, pulled, Extended a leg tripping Taylor over and using Taylor’s weight against him. Taylor screamed one more time, as Bernadette leaned down and used the gun on his head.

It was quiet. Blood pooled around it. Bernadette’s watch chirped, and she lifted her wrist to tread

It. She took a moment and sighed. “I guess we can get to the processing portion of this job. We just got an order for an A- donor and Taylor here is a match.”

I don’t know how they knew. I don’t know how the system works. It seems, whenever genetic materials are exposed in the room, the system reads, analyzes and matches parts with a long list of medical needs. The system would then automate the extraction of product when fed.

We catalogued, stored, and shipped out Taylor in multiple boxes… multiple recipients. He would help out so many people.

A child in Singapore would get his blood. A mother on the edge of blindness would receive his eyes and see her child for the first time, a single father of two, would get a strong heart to replace his own.

It was affordable, profitable and fast. No middle man. No long line. We made the most out of what we had.

We help people.

But I have to say, limp bodies weigh a ton.

I started training at the gym more. Carrying half empty punching bags over my shoulders. Doing muscle building excercises. I’ve settled for reps over weight. I want to help so many people so— I train for my job.