Fallout

People – usually children- often ask me, “What’s it like being a package”? And my answer is simple, “Its amazing”. You get to travel. No one really bothers you. Your life is well managed and as of the 2000’s they even track you in the US. There aren’t many downsides. Sure, there is a bumpy ride every now and then and those fragile pansies complain for hours on end but overall being a package is good. Oh before I forget there is another downside….being near envelopes. They are super touchy feely. My theory is once they are licked it revs up the engine but doesn’t drive the car, if you know what I mean. They spend the rest of their 3-5 day lives wanting to pick up from where they left off. Its best keep your distance.

Speaking on lifespans its good to note – packages don’t live very long. And before you get all teary-eyed think about it like this, neither do flies, gnats, dragonflies, or chameleons, and you don’t so much as bat an eye. In my grandfathers’ time packages lived FOREVER and that shit sucked. Who wants to be alive for an entire month? On Horseback? Are you kidding me? I would rip at the seams. There’s nothing worse than a packaged being damaged. Well, there is being “lost in transit” but that almost never happens anymore.

I know what you’re thinking, “You’re a package. You don’t have a soul or anything right?” Good question. The answer is no, but we have something like it. Humans are filled with an essence you refer to as a soul. Our essence is hope and/or anticipation. Whenever a package is sent the sender wants you to receive it. When a package is received there is an emotion in the recipient. This essence is enough to keep us alive during our shipping time. The only time it doesn’t work is when a package is lost. Eventually a new one gets ordered and the old one dies.

My name is To: Jessica Flores From: Erik M. I was ordered 4 days ago on Amazon. Normally, I would be freaking out at this point but Erik did not have Prime shipping so its cool. I was looking forward to the drone escort but the Delivery truck is nostalgic. I remember being in the truck as a child, bumbling around in the back for the first time. We would look out the window and get the show of a lifetime. Trees beaming green like St. Patty’s Day fireworks suspended in air. Birds singing from tree to tree like they were auditioning for a boy band. I once saw a dog chase a mailman. It was like watching my own personal Olympics. Those were the good days. Now, trips were all business. The newness of everything was gone.

There were only a few of us in the back of the truck this time, minus the one guy we dropped off an hour ago. To: French Montana From: You’re #1 Fan Ashley Lexington, To: Stefano Rivera From: Greg Rivera, To: Kelly Culprit From: Jessica Lee, & To: Thomas Heinz From U.S. Customs. There was another big package in the back by the driver’s seat. It’s name was turned away from me. It appeared to be sleep.

You ever get the feeling that someone is looking at you? For whatever reason you don’t look in the direction at first. Maybe you do not want to return the attention. Maybe you’re not reaching for the pending conversation. Yet, curiosity always wins. The need to know forces you to look in their direction and you are correct. They are staring. They are waiting for the attention to be returned and the moment your eyes meet it becomes the perfect invitation for them to say something. Their eyes even light up like tiny fires, like a student with their hand obnoxiously raised for the 5th time and the teacher begrudgingly selects them to answer the question. So who was staring at me, waiting for my little veto of recognition? Thomas Heinz.

“Hey”

“Hey…”

“Nice weather”

“Its weather…”

I could see his gaze lower. Normally when I see male humans do this to female humans the female makes an offensive gesture and the male looks confused. For packages its not offensive at all. What lays on our underbellies is for the world to see: An address.

“Going further upstate I see”

“Yeah. Only 10 more hours to go”.

Packages really aren’t great conversationalist. We only live for a few days and are never encouraged to “open up” – nature of the business. The only skill we ever really get to cultivate is small talk: “nice seams, what wonderful weather, sure is tight in here, where are you heading to, etc”. Our conversations end one of 2 ways: abruptly or awkwardly. Like a child falling out their crib or like the person who reaches for a handshake and you return it with a fist bump.

Behind Thomas I could see Kelly & Stefano struggling with their version of our dance. Her eye contact couldn’t be more evasive. His eye contact couldn’t be more searing. It was like watching a single guy approach a girl as she was standing right next to her boyfriend. This was the height of package socializing. Two never become one and even if you did the oneness was microwaved. And most of us were bags of popcorn under pressure.

As Thomas attempted to row this conversation down a dry stream I looked for an out. Kelly & Stefano were dying a slow death. To: French Montana was looking out the window while touching his seal, which felt inappropriate. I gave up but opportunity didn’t give up on me. Eyes were staring a me from up high on the far end of the truck, warm and rosy like an insecure God. A smile as charming as a dragons lit up when our eyes met. I didn’t know if my luck was getting better or if I was about to be eaten.

“HEEEYYYYYY” Said To: Alex & Mary Topowski From: Kelsey & Jim Beasley. Her voice like her smile was monstrous.

I didn’t know if the ground rumbled from her voice or the car engine. Everyone froze and I felt like The Great Oz from The Wizard of Oz had just spoken and we were all in trouble.

Everyone parted. It was obvious she was talking to me. It was obvious my luck was not improving. “We” weren’t in trouble. I was.

“To: Jessica Florez I’m going upstate too.”

“That’s nice”

“What? I can’t here you”

“THAT’S NICE!”

“I still can’t hear you. Gimmie a sec I’m coming over there.”

She shifted toward me and everyone got the memo to move except Thomas Heinz. Poor awkward-staring at a half-sticker- not reading the room – Thomas.

What happened next is kind of hard to explain. I couldn’t see for a brief period. From what I can recall. There was a thud. Red was everywhere. And Thomas died.

The Amazon damage report from later that evening read:

Package To: Thomas Heinz From U.S. Customs was damaged in transit. A large refrigeration unit – not properly strapped – Collapsed, crushing the package and its contents. Driver claims the refrigeration unit was properly strapped prior to departure. This is the first damage claim the driver has submitted in 102 deliveries. The Driver was issued a warning. There will be no financial grievance issued to the Driver.

Memos of the damage have been sent to shipper and recipient parties. A full refund will be issued. No known/noticeable damage has been noted on the refrigeration unit.

What the report did not say was the straps holding To: Alex & Mary Topowski in place were not improperly strapped. One was cut.

A Red ooze covered my label and most of my face after the Thud. Other packages were turned top side on impact. All I heard was commotion.

“Are you alright - Is everyone ok- Where’s the driver - Are you hurt”

I wiped my eyes and saw Thomas busted open like a Christmas Present (they get it the worse). On top of him was To: Alex & Mary Topowski, idle like a beached whale.

“Oh God. Get UP! GET UP!”

I grabbed at Thomas’s label but he was already gone.

“To: Alex roll off him!”

“I can’t” she said sniffling.”

“I’m a refrigerator. I can’t go on my bb… bbb…. bbbaaacccckkkk”

Tears rolled down her face and on to the remains of Thomas. He soaked up the water like a dead plant. The reality of what might happen to To: Alex was starting to set in.

“I’m damaged aren’t I. Fuck I’m damaged. If they find out do you know what they’ll do to me?”

I held her hand and decided not to speak. The tears pouring out her eyes said enough. I didn’t know what happened to appliances. All I knew was two things; as a package the worse things that could happen to you were to be lost or damaged.

“How did you fall? What happened?” Beckoned To: Kelly

“I don’t know I don’t know! Tsch. My shoulder hurts”

“Am I open? Am I open!”

“No openings on this end” I replied

“None here either” replied To: French Montana & To: Stefano

I was covered in Thomas. The red was all over me and the entire wall to my back. I took a second to wipe my arms, legs, and clean off my label. The truck stopped and that was when I noticed the dangling strap.

“To: Alex the driver strapped you in right?”

“Yes. I’m certain” she said still sniffling

“I was reaching to unbuckle the top strap as I was walking toward you and It just….I just….I didn’t mean to….”

The continuous stream poured again.

The driver would come any minute now to inspect the thud. Before he could I inspected the bottom strap. It was still taut and intact. Who among us would be tall enough to reach the top strap? How could they cut it?

The truck doors swung open. Our driver was a skinny man in his early thirties with a thick blond mustache and a blue trucker hat. He was wearing circular shiny black tinted sunglasses. I could see he was just as confused as the rest of us.

“Aw come on! What the fuck! I’m not paying for this shit man”

He pulled out a phone and dialed ‘112’ which was the generic code for the local dispatcher.

“Yeah. Hello? This is Angus. Look, I managed to drop off the blade set with the first delivery but there appears to have been an accident during the second. I’m going to need someone to come out here and help with this.”

“Yes….”

“Yes…”

“Yup, the refrigerator.”

He nodded, hung up the phone and decided to smoke a cigarette.

If the first delivery was a blade set that explains a lot. I wasn’t fond of the packages’ name but it was a long narrow box about 2 ft higher than the rest of us.

I looked at the dangling – still buckled but cut- strap and couldn’t help but notice how high it was in the air. Sure the packaged delivered was the 2nd tallest among us but the strap was almost 4ft high. How did he get up there?

There were no empty cannisters on the floor. No filthy equipment hanging around the truck. No random boxes taking up space. He couldn’t have reached the strap unless….

He had help.

I looked at the remaining 3 packages and knew between the anxiety and fear one of these little shits was lying. Between the smoke & mirrors one of these fucks was corrupt and wanted at least one of us to die in the back of this truck.

Who was it?