Whoopsies.

After 3 days of making sales in the extreme heat, coupled with the intermittent 20 minute borderline hurricanes, we were finally ready to leave the university. After banging out  loading the tuck with some poor sucker, we were ready to go. Although, with all respect for my partner, this whole situation was my fault.
I have to hand it to Darryl and the gang (Darryl roolz and is obviously the leader) for providing us with a foolproof presentation on the finer points of driving and life, they failed to provide the skills of latching truck doors. I mean, I obviously understand not pinning someone under my truck, but apparently I don't understand how to fit a hook into an appropriately sized hole. That being said, yes, I fucked up big time.
We left the college and somewhere along the way, the door came open. Thing is, we....er, I didn't know that the door of the truck was open for the last 8 miles of driving. That means 8 miles in a metropolitan area with people passing until someone had the decency to let us know that the door was open. Fuck.
I ripped into a  gas station parking lot to check what we lost. Only one cart. Phew. Wait, What? I lost the last loaded fucking cart! Fuck! Oh no! If beyond the wall is charging us for stolen items at face value, what are they going to charge me for what I lost out of "negligence"? Luckily, Working at various other shitty jobs that involve packing trucks, none of the other "precious" cargo was lost. But FUCK! What if it hit the car behind me? What if some mafioso, for once, actually scored some goods that fell off a truck? What if the cops are there, and see that I have not once filled out that book that we are supposed to write down fake hours in? Will I go to Jail? Yes. Will I get Fired? Check. Will I be pushed further into debt for more bullshit that has done nothing for me? Oh you bet.
I fucked myself for a company ran by horrible human beings. Does this make me a horrible human being? This, and an eternity of other mind fucking questions were what was running through my head as we drove back towards the school, scanning the roads for our lost swag. Block after block yielded nothing. Does that pulled over truck have my bullshit? Naw, they're clean. Is that car swerving to miss a pile of boxes? Naw, probably just drunk. Then where is it?
Oh, there it is, off of the cart, still partially covered by the tarp covering it when I wheeled it onto the truck. No way. No fucking way. But what about the shit not covered by the tarp? Oh, tappies and playing cards, all shrink wrapped. What about the Box of backups that are wet? Oh yeah, fuck my employers and scan them as damaged. What about the cart, is it broken? Nope, still rollin. Now comes the championship fist in the air, click of the heels, throw the shit in the truck, and get. the. fuck. out.