Ten minutes later, the pallets were unloaded and Mr. Fontana signed off on the sheet. “Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”
I opened the truck door, but before I got in, he stopped me. “Hold up,” he said. I stepped back and looked at him. He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m sorry you’ve been having problems with the deliveries lately, and with Buzz in particular.” So that’s the name of the moron on the forklift. Figures.
“Whatever. I’m just trying to do my job, you know?” I got into the cab and rolled the window down. “Thanks again, sir.”
“Anytime,” he replied, and smiled, a toothy grin that did something funny to my insides, for some reason. “You know, you can call me Paul, Derrick.”
“I might just do that in the future, Mr. Fontana. See you next time,” I said, ignoring his mild flirtation
