Parcel Loading, Part Two
I'd heard that people on diets all have a favorite line.
I'll start tomorrow.
I hadn't exactly signed up for loading work with that kind of attitude. Because of my stream schedule, I had to take a morning shift — and you can't exactly book a morning gig the morning of. So Tuesday came and went. Wednesday, Ari was coming over to pick up the Switch, so I couldn't go in.
Which left now.
Thursday morning, seven o'clock. I finally stepped out of the house to go to work. No — a little earlier than that, actually. I had to catch the shuttle that ran out to the Logistics Distribution Center.
Yesterday I'd made a point of falling asleep the instant the stream ended at one, but even then I'd gotten less than six hours. I stood there yawning as the drowsiness crept in, and spotted a few people nearby. Judging by the way they shifted on their feet, they were waiting for the same shuttle. Young women, a handful of seasoned ajummas who looked like they'd been at this for years, and, surprisingly, a fair number of men.
Without thinking, I shoved a hand into my clothes and scratched my stomach, and that was when the eyes gathered. Yeah. I just did that. Afterward I could feel their stares, blunt and undisguised.
Anyway, the shuttle arrived before long. They ran a quick headcount, we boarded, and we headed for the Logistics Distribution Center.
Maybe it was just an unlucky day. The moment we got there, there was a problem.
A parcel loading gig has four assignments — loading, unloading, sorting, and repackaging — and of those, sorting and repackaging are relatively easy, so they're mostly given to men. Well, not only men. Beginner women get the easy jobs sometimes too. Looking over the crowd at the center, though, the share of men seemed a little higher than it should have been.
Why the hell had so many guys shown up for this brutal gig? Because they knew they'd get the easy work, so everyone piled in?
The woman who looked like the coordinator pulled all the men aside. From what I overheard, there were so many of them that a few would have to be peeled off onto loading and unloading. She wore a thoroughly stunned expression. I'd have been stunned too. Watching the men cluster together, muttering with sour faces, I wondered if they'd even last if they got put on a loading line. Willpower aside, none of them looked like they had the bodies to survive that work.
Time seemed tight, and as you'd expect, nobody volunteered.
Honestly, I'd wanted the relatively easy job myself. I had come all the way to a gender-reversed world. But at this point, dodging it felt wrong. Someone had to do it, so better someone who was used to it. And the coordinator had been glancing my way for a while — a sturdy build, for a man, was apparently catching her eye.
I sighed and raised my hand.
"I'll do it."
Eyes gathered. I didn't particularly want to look at the men's, so I kept my gaze on the female coordinator, and her expression brightened at an incredible speed.
"Ah! I'd really appreciate that!"
Huh.
That was it? Just me? They only needed one person to switch?
My face went ice-cold. The coordinator seemed to flinch for a second, looking at me. Not my problem.
We're fucked.
More precisely: we're about to get fucked.
There had been a brief rundown on safety rules and loading work. I didn't hear a word of it. It didn't seem like the kind of job that ended with just stacking boxes, and as a beginner who hadn't even gotten a proper explanation, my future looked grim. I probably wasn't the only one. From the person running the training on down, nobody was paying attention to that boring briefing.
Because of the person standing next to me.
"Haa..."
He hasn't looked like he's in a good mood since I first saw him, and I don't know what happened, but he's terrifying. Honestly... I'm also kind of happy I get to work all day with someone that handsome.
Earlier was insane. The loading crew was a mix of everything — a young woman who looked like a delinquent, scary-looking ajummas, all kinds of people — and even a so-so guy walking in would have drawn eyes. Then a guy like that walked in. Everyone in that room stared at one man. His face was already full of irritation, and he didn't seem to care about those stares at all. If the safety instructor hadn't come in quickly, someone — no, several someones — would have started hitting on him. He does look a bit like a guy who gets around.
Anyway, the fact that he and I got assigned to the same line was pretty surprising. I heard from the lead that he'd done loading a few times before, which was even more surprising. How unlucky did a man have to be to have ended up on a loading line more than once?
Well. Anyway. I hoped the work would go smoothly. A nice view was nice, but the important thing was the work.
They say you shouldn't judge people by appearances.
This guy. Yuhan, I mean. He was quietly — no, quite — a kind person. On the way to get assigned to a line he'd worn that irritated look and hadn't said much, but once it was just the two of us left on the line, he relaxed his face and spoke first. He seemed really into games, and we actually got along great. He even gave me a bunch of loading tips, as if to prove his experience wasn't a lie.
I thought I might be the luckiest person here today for meeting Yuhan. Well — no. That would still be the guys who got the cushy jobs. During a short break before the truck came, I told him that, and he burst out laughing, and it felt like we'd gotten a little closer.
Maybe we'd get close enough to exchange numbers, meet outside... that could happen, right?
This was no time for that kind of fantasy.
From the truck rolling in to every ounce of strength being spent: five minutes. I was already running on fumes from way earlier, just grinding through the motions. We'd only filled it about halfway. I was going to lose my mind.
How did Yuhan have stamina like that? Or was I just that bad? Watching him move those suspiciously heavy boxes so fast, though — yes. Yuhan was just that impressive.
How long had it even been since we got a break. At least an hour since we started. Definitely.
...
Thirty minutes? That was it? For real? And we had to do this for how many hours?
I resented myself for volunteering for this at the start of summer. And Yuhan? He was a guy, and he was still holding up? I'd gone into a trance at some point, and I turned my head to look at Yuh—
Holy shit.
What was that.
I'd thought the next line over had been staring at us for a while. The humid heat unique to a Korean summer, the brutal labor, and the white short sleeves Yuhan had worn in — together they were putting on a spectacle.
Him, inside the truck, stacking cargo. I'd heard before coming here that in summer the temperature inside the trucks climbed viciously high. How hot did it have to be for him to look like that. His messy bangs, soaked with the sweat beading on his forehead, plastered flat to his skin. Sweat running down his neck, catching the light. And that white T-shirt, soaked through, clinging to his body and faintly showing bare skin.
"What... is there something on me?"
"Ah, no! You just looked like you were struggling...!"
"Hah... you look like you're struggling more, though. Looks like another one's coming in soon, so rest a bit more."
Saying that, Yuhan yanked the hem of his T-shirt up and wiped his face. Why was a guy that careless!
From the next line over came the sound of boxes hitting the floor. I wanted to warn him... but now he was stretching. Those jeans that clung to him in a strangely snug way caught my eye.
I'd look a little longer and tell him later...
What kind of thoughts did you have to have on a regular basis to serve this and call it a meal?
Psychopath. Definitely a psychopath. Well — if I was eating it with gusto, did that make me a psychopath too?
Lunch after more than four hours of labor was fantastic. Even if I couldn't admit the menu. Jimin was looking at me with a complicated expression as I shoveled rice down like a proper woman. She'd been doing that off and on. Why.
"What's wrong?"
"Um... Yuhan. It's just..."
She talked in circles, and the conclusion was my clothes. She said, worriedly, that they were soaked with sweat and the other women were staring too much. I'd had a feeling the stares were getting heavier as the day wore on. I didn't really care, but image was still a thing. A guy working with his bare skin showing through wasn't going to get any kind looks.
"Well, not much I can do. I'll wear black tomorrow."
"And... when you wipe your sweat with that shirt..."
"Ah."
Yeah, that definitely looked perverted. But there was no other convenient way to deal with the sweat.
"Just let them look."
"Huh?"
"Looking doesn't wear it out. If you want to look too, Jimin, go ahead."
I'd said it to brush it off, and her face went bright red. Now I was getting embarrassed for no reason.
Anyway, the work still stretched on endlessly. It was a long way to the Switch, and I didn't have time to worry about that kind of thing. I waited while Jimin finished eating, we rested together, then went back to our line.
Labor, round two. Jimin seemed to have gotten the hang of it, and I'd finally recovered all my old memories. With the tricks Mr. Kim had taught me and this blessed body of mine, I could smash through anything.
"What's going on over there that they're taking so many breaks?"
The Logistics Shift Manager was startled by a sight she didn't often see. She wasn't that old — she'd only just had her wedding — but she'd never seen a situation like this. Some amateur-looking college girl was working amateurishly, and yet the overall pace was faster than most veterans. The girl didn't look particularly strong, and this wasn't a problem you solved with a bit of technique.
So the cause was probably the person inside the truck. A glance showed this vehicle's load was almost done too. She went closer to check who was inside, and right then someone came out.
A man soaked in sweat. From his head down, his whole body was drenched, as if he'd just climbed out of the water. Nowhere to put her eyes. Looking at his face was uncomfortably handsome, and looking at his upper body — the soaked clothes had already stopped doing their job. If she looked at his pants, they were stained dark here and there, maybe from wiping sweat off his hands. And... maybe because the pants were a little tight, a long ridge rose along his thigh...
Crazy... what the hell am I doing.
"Good afternoon!"
A blond man greeting her boldly. The shift manager startled and lifted her gaze. The man smiling brightly at her kept pushing his bangs back with his hand, as if they kept falling into his eyes. Even a married shift manager was still only in her mid-thirties. A young man who looked like that, in a state like that — of course her eyes would wander. Even if she'd been older, the reaction would have been similar.
"What are you doing here, kid? Weren't all the men pulled over to sorting?"
From what he said, sorting and repackaging were full, so he'd volunteered to come over here. Different from men these days. She threw a few more questions, and he answered with a smile, tossing out sly, ajumma-like jokes that didn't match his age. She was clearly eating into his already scarce break time, and he didn't show it. If anything, he was enjoying the situation. His rough banter reminded her of the middle-aged people who worked here. Like he was used to this.
The shift manager felt bad for taking his time, but she didn't want to stop. Talking with a woman of this personality would have been fun enough — and on top of that, a young, handsome man. It was enjoyable. Quite. And somehow, comfortable. Every bit of his speech had consideration for the other person in it. Even talking with her husband hadn't been this easy.
She herself didn't notice, but her eyes kept stealing glances at this and that on him. Without realizing it, she was breathing in the scent of sweat coming off his body. Other employees were looking at her with disapproval, and she didn't even see it. She also didn't notice the college girl's gaze, watching her anxiously from right behind.
The shift manager felt a strange flutter from this man she'd met for the first time today.
Only when the next truck arrived did she step back.
When all the work was done, the envelope Yuhan received held a day's wage of a hundred and ten dollars — twenty of it added at the shift manager's discretion — along with her phone number. But Yuhan never realized he'd dropped the slip of paper with the number on it.
He just thought it had been a lucky day.