practicing writing

This is the other post from 2014, minus needless details. ... So we go back to unload them from the truck. Kaylie grabs the small box, and I look at the printer box. "Oh yeah," Kaylie says, "that's the printer box. Someone said that it's supposed to be heavy--like 60 pounds. Who has big muscles? ... Oh hey, Macho! Can you help us with this package?"

The following is a reblog of a post I wrote in 2014.  I thought of this blog's title while looking down from a forklift at a puddle. I am a forklift driver at a warehouse which must, for the present, remain nameless. I don't want to maintain this blog. If I do maintain it, the one thing people have told me to include in it is "stories from my life." For example. In college I was an English major. One of the last novels I read before graduating was  Moby-Dick . (Keep that in mind.) After graduating, I got a job as a technical writer at a grain processing facility. One of the grains processed in this facility was quinoa. Quinoa, when milled, becomes a very fine flour—something like talcum powder. It has a creamy, off-white color. One day a coworker asked me to obtain a sample of some quinoa flour. So, I dutifully went to the QA department and got the sample probe, which is a metal rod that pokes into bags of grain, opens up, and receives grain into its h...