Machamp Story - How to Be a Super Macho Mon
You were awoken rudely, as always, by the screeches of a digital alarm clock, its cries harsh and grating compared to the more dulcet tones produced by your phone when you set an alarm.
You needed it.
The phone was always too quiet and you usually just slept through it, which made this piece of kit, antiquated though it might have been, an absolute necessity for you.
Or perhaps you were just a hipster in denial...
Either way, you blearily reached out to silence the racket, again as always, blissfully unaware in the moment that this would be you and the alarm clock's final moment together.
You didn't entirely perceive what happened at first.
You just heard cracking plastic, a faint metallic tinkling, and then the inevitably louder than one would think it should be impact of a small, hard object cratering into the floor.
Peering groggily over the edge of the bed, you saw your alarm clock in pieces.
The casing was completely smashed in, and more pieces had broken off and skittered away after it had hit the floor.
Part of the electronics inside were visible, even giving off a tiny amount of magic smoke before the apparently damaged battery finally sparked and failed completely.
You were still half-asleep, and so couldn't muster the proper amount of anger, shock, or upset for such a situation.
Weird, you weren't normally THIS out of it when you woke up, much less when things were falling down and going boom like that.
Trying in some way to make sense of what was going on and maybe wake yourself up properly, you slowly reached out with both right arms toward the shattered remnants.
Both... right arms...?
Your breathing began to quiver as both hands turned over to show the palms, fingers flexing and unflexing in perfect unison at your unconscious command.
You tried lifting your left hand into view.
Left hands.
Same thing.
Two hands.
Moving as one.
Grey.
You stumbled heedlessly out of bed, foggy brain lagging, the gears in your head not really turning like gears should, but moreso spinning freely like hamster wheels, totally unable to make sense of what was happening to you.
The remains of the alarm clock crunched heedlessly underfoot.
Trembling fingers eased gently around the wood of the door (you were immensely glad in that moment that you liked to sleep with it slightly ajar), only for both of your hands to rip it open almost faster than you could see, the crunch of the doorknob smashing through the plasterboard and the hinges squealing in protest making you wince.
In hindsight you'd go on to reflect that a doorstop would've been a good investment long ago, but you couldn't think about that right now.
You couldn't think about much of anything.
You were almost on autopilot.
It carried you to the bathroom.
Your gaze reflexively averted as you stepped tentatively over the threshold.
You starred at your hands again.
All four of them.
Part of you didn't want to see - the rest knew you had to.
Why were you so groggy?
Part of you wanted it to be because you were drugged - the rest knew it wasn't true.
Slowly, very slowly, your eyes traced upwards, taking in every inch of the pedestal on which the sink rested. The lip. The drain. The taps.
Your gaze awkwardly hovered on the wall between the sink and the mirror for a moment.
You snapped your head the rest of the way up all at once.
Red eyes that were currently boggling at the sight before you.
Head ridges.
An almost beak-like mouth.
The second set of arms disappearing into shoulders that were almost behind your head.
Nothing on but black briefs and a wrestling belt.
Finally, you started to process, actually accepting that these visual inputs were accurate (if still unclear on accepting their implications) allowing you to languidly begin to wave the fog away.
You'd seen the news reports, of course.
It was all anyone at work could talk about.
You hadn't seen a Pokemon in person yet, but several co-workers alleged that they had.
You'd even reflected on how funny it was that life could just sort of carry on as normal in the midst of all this.
And now, here you were... a community college nobody with a crappy job and crappier prospects...
Like this.
Like that girl. What was that Pokemon called again...?
You liked the series just fine, you guessed, but it wasn't as if you were a superfan or anything - hadn't played one in a long time.
It didn't FEEL like a monkey's paw situation... it wasn't like you'd ASKED for this...
And yet...
Slowly, you raised both right hands. You only wanted one, but couldn't seem to will the second to co-operate.
Tentative. Shaking a little. You touched your reflection in the mirror. Ran your fingers down the glass.
You swallowed. You tilted your head at yourself a little.
Then, to nobody's greater surprise than your own, you smiled a bit.
Heh...
Man, you were really, REALLY glad your roommates both had early starts today...
Well, you weren't freaking out.
There was still another hole in the wall now, though.
You were pulled away from pensively gazing at yourself by a rumbling stomach. The more things changed...
You'd kind of sauntered heedlessly towards the kitchen, both pairs of arms outstretched and gaze languidly drifting between them.
Your thoughts still came sluggishly, but you noticed how your eye was drawn almost inexorably to each upper arm.
An opinion on at least one aspect of this situation was just starting to solidify when you noticed one of your hands had clipped something on a side table.
You managed to reel back in time to prevent anything from crashing to the floor, but then you heard a distressing crunch and felt resistance against the opposite hand that quickly abated.
Reluctantly, you turned.
Sure enough, your hand was straight through the damn wall.
Sighing, more out of sympathy for your poor, poor wallet than anything else, you retrieved the offending appendage and curled your hands in front of you as best you could the rest of the way.
You handled getting a kitchen cupboard open gingerly.
Having to do everything with two hands at once made things difficult.
You managed it without breaking anything else, though.
Then you got a bit ahead of yourself in your excitement at seeing the box of cereal.
The cardboard crumpled under your grip. The bag exploded like Popeye's spinach and sent cereal in every direction.
You could only grimace and flinch away, not wanting crumbs in your eyes.
Why had everything in here been made so fragile?
A Machamp would sure never build anything so sloppy!
...what?
You shook your head. Food first.
Glancing awkwardly from side-to-side, you shrugged, then tilted your head back, lifted the half-ruined box over your head, and allowed whatever remained inside to pour into your wide open mouth.
Might've still been a whole pound in there, but you held the whole lot in your mouth and chewed it like it was nothing.
Your new face scrunched up a bit - it tasted like chemicals and stale cardboard.
Well, more than usual.
But it'd do for now. Barely.
Milk. You needed it.
You opened the fridge extremely, EXTREMELY carefully. If you damaged THAT there'd be Hell to pay.
Getting the milk out wasn't TOO bad provided you employed utmost concentration, but getting the cap off felt like an exercise in theoretical physics.
Probably why milk wound up dented, knocked over, and poured out over the counter.
Probably why it wound up further poured all over the floor as you hastened to get the carton back upright and tip what remained down your throat before it was all wasted.
Cold. Fresh. Only a mild bite of some sort of artificial sick.
And then you slipped over on the milk and now soggy cereal covering the floor.
It didn't really hurt, but by the time your world stopped spinning you noted that the back of your head WAS through one of the lower cupboard doors now, your head resting against a freshly dented saucepan.
Great.
It was at that point, starring up at the ceiling feeling VERY sorry for yourself indeed, that you came to a decision.
You weren't moving until you figure out how to make each arm move on its own.
All four arms lifted up in front of you and you starred at them.
You considered them, every single inch of each positively rippling with newfound muscle.
That half-formed thought from before finally solidified.
You thought about what you looked like before... how you'd known your body to let you down on the job...
Yeah, okay, the muscles were pretty epic.
Being as clumsy and destructive as Dumbo on a bender? Not epic.
Still, you couldn't help but wonder what they could REALLY do...
But you were gonna have to get control over them first.
You sat there for hours, maybe days.
Okay, it probably wasn't that long, but it sure felt like it.
Maybe your old body had been down with sitting still, but this one wanted to move, to act... to LIFT...
Although it didn't help that you spent as much time starring at your new muscles as you spent figuring out how to make the arms move independently.
It felt narcissistic and it kind of contradicted your newfound desire to be in motion, but it was hard not to admire yourself compared to what you were before.
There was something oddly natural about it - preening felt somehow intrinsic, like food or sleep.
And all that while stewing in failure and slowly spoiling milk - you could only imagine how much more you'd enjoy it in actually GOOD circumstances.
Anyway, it turned out the problem with your new arms was kind of the opposite of phantom limb.
At first, your brain was only really registering your lower arms and the new upper ones were just along for the ride.
It took intense, conscious effort to begin to change that.
Starring intently at your upper right hand, you must have flexed and unflexed the fingers in perfect unison with the lower dozens of times before you saw even the slightest, nigh-imperceptible desynchronization.
Only sheer need... maybe even full-blown desperation... had kept you going that long, but like everything, the first step was the hardest.
With each desynchronized motion, the lower arm lagged the upper arm's movement more and more. Almost unconsciously, your focus began to drift. To split.
Your lower arm moved in the opposite direction to the upper.
You tried it with your left arms.
It only took one dozen tries this time.
You wiggled the fingers like Baymax.
You made finger guns and made your four hands shoot at each other.
It was like a snowball rolling downhill, every success at integrating these new appendages building momentum.
Things shifted at some point. Clicked.
Right around the time you were able to make the upper hand punch the palm of the lower hand on the opposite side.
Almost like these "new" limbs had, in fact, always been there.
Well, they HAD always been there.
...umm, no?
You shook your head.
Alright, you couldn't stay here anymore - inaction was messing with your head.
Or at least that's what you told yourself.
You made to find your enormous, two-toed feet.
Ironically, your improved but imperfect control over your arms actually made this more difficult.
Having to adjust for the subtle shifts in your center of gravity from all four limbs moving independently of each other, plus the slippery floor, saw you spill forwards.
You didn't shatter the countertop upon slamming all four of your hands into it, but you were quite sure that wasn't GOOD for it.
It was a bit of a fight to get back to the bathroom while staying upright.
You almost crashed into something again when you got distracted tilting your upper right forearm up and down, watching the muscles flex instead of where you were going.
But you made it back in front of the mirror without further incident.
You saw yourself for the first time.
Not merely seeing, or tentatively accepting, but actually LOOKING.
Actually admiring.
Every inch of swole, toned frame.
Every subtle movement of cut, perfect muscle.
You couldn't help it - you flexed all four of your biceps.
A rush like you'd never felt before.
Not just confidence, but radiating power - an inner light that made you somehow weightless and yet immovable at the same time.
Like you could punch through a wall.
No, a mountain!
Already intoxicated by this feeling, you tried something more advanced.
You swung your lower arms down, making the fists meet in front of your abdomen, and stretched your upper arms far above your head at the same time, one upper hand grabbing the other upper arm's wrist.
It wasn't truly at the same time - you sort of had to awkwardly will one action and then the other right after.
Still getting used to this.
The effect was the same though - that feeling of inner power shining even stronger, bathing you in the warmth of something you'd never felt before - complete and total self-assurance.
Wait, no, you'd totally felt this before!
...no you hadn't.
Whatever. You turned sideways a bit and curled your lower arm tight in front of yourself.
You gave yourself a smug wink.
Oooh, you LIKED that...
The only reason you stopped wasn't out of any fear that things might be getting TOO narcissistic, but because of a sudden, intractable revelation - something you couldn't THINK of resisting because every fibre of your new being was screaming it at you.
"I'e GOH-A 'ehh umunn a-oww kih!"
The revelation that you couldn't make half the sounds the English language with this beak-like mouth (in hindsight that definitely hadn't helped the milk situation either) came at the exact same time you unthinkingly hammered your fists on the vanity in your excitement and the throes of a decision made, the tremendous bang of something giving way the thing to shake you from your self-aggrandizing stupor and actually bring you back to reality.
Your reaction both to the linguistic revelation and to the massive crack now running through the vanity top (fortunately, the basin itself appeared as if it would still run and hold water. Small victories) was one and the same...
Well, THAT wasn't good...
"Eh qikk rown okk..."
After satisfying yourself that there wasn't much you could do about the vanity right now, you attempted to figure out how to talk with this beak, figuring maybe it was like your new arms and you just needed to practice.
"...unc aer eh aeyy og!"
You weren't having much luck so far.
You peered searchingly into the mirror, inserting a finger into your mouth and tugging on your cheek while your upper arms idly curled a waste basket and a toilet plunger.
Not heavy by any stretch of the imagination, but you had unconsciously reached for whatever you could lift while you were trying to teach yourself to talk and you'd let the upper arms do it.
You needed the practice on that front too anyway.
Eventually you concluded that the speech impediment wasn't going away time soon.
"Ahh cak!"
You felt a bit like freaking out and dropped the plunger and basket.
But on pulling back with both right fists, you saw yourself in the mirror and the aggressive gesture half-transitioned into a pose without you really intending it to.
Intrigued, you then struck a full pose, right arms curled and left arms outstretched in different directions.
THAT made you feel better.
You posed more and felt that unstoppable feeling start to return.
Okay, fine, you decided. No freaking out.
Better to focus on the things you COULD actually control.
With slightly less caution and slightly more confidence than before (at least, over your own movements if not about where all of this Pokemon business was actually going to go), you left the bathroom once again, this time to find something heavier to lift.
You actually did own a couple of very small weights, but you'd basically never used them as a human and continued not to do so as a Machamp.
WAY too light.
Eventually you fixed your eyes onto your bed.
You knew immediately it was a terrible idea, but something made you do it anyway.
You needed this.
Four grey hands were placed along the undersides of the bed
You heaved, but only managed to shift it a bit before your legs lost purchase and you were sent humiliatingly to your knees.
Come on, a Machamp's supposed to be stronger than that!
...you just tried to ignore that.
It wasn't that you weren't strong enough, it was just awkward weight distribution and bad positioning. A simple matter of adjusting, shifting your feet, and trying again.
This time the bed lifted almost effortlessly onto its far side legs, but you weren't done.
You stepped forward, all four arms shifting under the thing.
You lifted.
There was only a modest amount of strain - less than you'd expected actually.
Weirdly unceremoniously, your bed was now over your head.
You were holding your damn bed over your damn head.
Sure, some more shit got knocked off your side table - who gave a shit?
YOUR BED WAS OVER YOUR HEAD!
Finally satisfied that you'd made the moment climactic enough for yourself, you slammed it back down in victory, only to find yourself wincing as you heard something crack and the bed proceed to begin sagging to a rather unfortunate looking angle.
A quick drop to the floor (which wound up being WAY louder than you anticipated, though at least the floor wasn't likely to break on you. Probably. Maybe.) confirmed what you already knew - one of the stubby wooden legs was snapped and splintered.
As you found your feet again, all four hands met your head in a deep, groaning facepalm. Knowing you'd done this to your own dumb ass self didn't make it any better.
Well, on the plus side, now that you had the basics down it actually seemed easier to control your upper arms by just letting things happen, rather than through conscious effort.
That only made sense, they were YOUR arms, after all. You'd never forget how to use your four perfect arms!
...there it was again
It was getting harder to ignore that crap... clearly you needed a MUCH bigger distraction...
Clearly you needed something heavier.
Clearly you needed more space.
Right, back to plan A then.
Even if you couldn't talk properly, you couldn't stay cooped up in here.
You HAD to tell someone about this.
You HAD to show the world what you could do now.
You HAD to get the fuck out of here.
This apartment wasn't big enough for the ONE of you...
You (carefully!) opened your closet, looking around for anything that could disguise you.
It wasn't that you were scared of being noticed - you had no intention of hiding this from the world and really, between your roommates and the damage to the apartment, that train had already sailed anyway.
You just... needed the right audience for your public debut, was all...
Besides, no true Machamp would DARE deny others their physical perfection!
...I'm going, I'm going. Shut up already.
You really hoped you'd stop having these intrusive thoughts once you were surrounded by enough noise to drown them out.
You found an old trechcoat you'd used for cosplay.
Good thing you had a (cringe, admittedly) flair for the dramatic.
And a... floppy wide-brimmed sunhat...?
You didn't remember owning a sunhat.
Whatever, it'd do.
You might as well have been conducting brain surgery for how delicate the process of getting the coat on without ripping it to shreds was.
Even worse was figuring out what to do with your upper arms.
Eventually, after much flailing and at least one more object in the room broken, you discovered you could kind of hold them behind your back, like an inferior version (owing to the different shoulder positioning) of the military at ease position.
It was, needless to say, awkward and uncomfortable having to tuck them under the trenchcoat like this, and it made you look like a hunchback, but like with the sunhat, it'd have to do.
And just like that, you were off.
Oh, wait...
You didn't trust yourself with your phone right now - your big meaty claws would probably crush it by accident - but something you DID need was your lanyard.
You hadn't worn the stupid thing since induction, but not being able to talk properly, there'd be no other way for them to identify you.
NOW you were off.
Getting out the door wasn't TOO bad (although you quickly gave up on the notion of locking it), and neither was getting down the stairs (albeit louder than usual, and you had to brace yourself against the wall a couple of times. This time managing not to put any holes in it, thankfully), but once you were out on the street, you had to admit your resolve DID waver just a little bit.
You started catching funny looks almost immediately.
Made sense.
Even though you were lucky enough to still be the rough size and shape (for certain values of shape) of a regular human, you were still a barefoot, two-toed, grey-skinned hunchback in a trench coat and a sunhat.
This wasn't the Ninja Turtles, of course people were going to notice.
It wasn't enough to stop you, though.
You still wanted to show someone.
You still wanted to silence the intrusive thoughts.
You kept moving and kept the collar of the trenchcoat upturned and pinched it close to your throat.
You (gradually. You were still a little unsteady on your feet and didn't want to faceplant) moved from a walk to a hustle, but didn't run, wanting to balance minimizing the amount of time any given individual had to decide you needed to be filmed (or worse, have the cops called on you) with not drawing more attention than you already were.
It helped that you seemed faster than a regular human. You wondered if you could beat Usain Bolt at a full-tilt sprint.
You wondered if you could beat a cheetah at a full-tilt sprint.
You used all the quiet alleyway shortcuts and dead-end streets you knew.
You should've been just as worried about the cops when you arrived probably, but you knew everything would be alright.
You just had to show them what you could do, then everything would be alright.
It just had to be.
Of course it would be.
...wouldn't it?
With your enhanced speed, you didn't have too long to ruminate before finding out.
The grocery store looked much as it always did.
Not at its busiest since it was late in the morning by this point (it might even be lunchtime already. Not like you had your phone with you to check), but still people milling around and wandering in and out.
Your focus was off to the side, though.
The store was hemmed in by other shops both to its side and its rear, so the loading dock was awkwardly placed, down the side, but facing forwards toward the public.
To your immeasurable good fortune, there was a truck pulling in to deliver product at that very moment.
You always did sympathize with the drivers having to back down that narrow, cramped PoS.
Alright, a quick dash across the car park, then you could stop wearing this crap.
It just felt so... unnatural... and not merely because of the physical discomfort.
You'd only hidden as long as you'd absolutely had to, and you were quite done with it already.
No one (from the store, anyway. Probably some of the patrons did) noticed as you hustled down the side of the truck, so you made a point of slowing as you approached the rear of the trailer.
A casual saunter brought you into view of your co-workers just as they were bringing up the pallet jack, your head held high and beaming, floppy sunhat and all.
"Woah, what the Hell!?"
"Ii ayeg!" you tried, giving a little wave.
"The fuck is... huh...!?"
"Is that a...?"
Grinning, you grandly tossed away the hat and pulled off the trench coat, just like the turtles did it in Injustice.
Okay, the awkwardness of real world ergonomics meant it wasn't as impressive as in the game, but at least you managed to avoid tearing the thing.
"Fuck me!"
"Woah! Shit! It is!"
"S-stay back!"
They didn't known how to react.
Fair. You wouldn't've either.
Not being able to communicate certainly didn't help.
Instead, you kept waving and held up your lanyard with one of your upper hands, dangling and jiggling it for everybody's attention while your two remaining hands gestured toward yourself with your thumbs.
One guy was brave enough to lean forward and squint enough to actually read the writing.
"...Charlie?"
The sheer, slack-jawed incredulity in your co-worker's voice was nothing short of delectable.
They were completely in awe of you, or at least you liked to think so.
You just waved harder and nodded your head vigorously, flexing the two arms that had just been pointing.
"I an alk oog ik ih, uh ihh ee!"
"Uhhh..."
Your co-workers glanced at each other, their expressions turning a bit distressed when they glanced back.
"You're one of them!? Some fucking warning next time, maybe!?"
"Why'd you even come to work like this, man!?"
"This isn't... you shouldn't be... nnn..."
Your burrow furrowed, but only for a moment.
Okay, maybe not quite so in awe, then, but you could fix that!
Of course, their tongues were way sharper than yours right now, so you'd need to prove yourself another way.
The best way any Machamp knew how.
...shut
You turned, feeling no fear (or even mere awkwardness) at showing your back to people who were in no way entirely pleased to see you, and gazed into the truck.
Pallets piled high with boxes, all wrapped up in clear plastic wrap.
The same sight you'd seen dozens of times before, but every previous time, you'd dreaded it.
You used to be so thin - never could put on weight, much less muscle.
Even with a jack, the pallets may as well have been mountains.
Shifting the boxes off the pallets was almost literally back-breaking some days.
Your body hated you, the near-perpetual aching of your weak muscles doing you no favors over in what could laughingly be called academia.
It was a wonder you'd even gotten this job in the first place.
But you'd kept showing up. Needed the money, of course, same as anyone.
Now, though?
You grinned, and cracked your knuckles.
Now the mountains just looked like toy mole hills.
You stepped forward.
"Umm, what is he doing...?
"H-hey, you can't do that!"
"Call the cops, man!"
You were unmoved by their words.
Prove what you could do, then they'd see.
That was all that mattered.
Heedless of one co-worker starting to frantically dig for his phone, two of your hands lifted the edge of the pallet by the upper slat, then your other two hands slipped entirely under the thing and the first two let go.
The weight now resting on your fingers was objectively immense, but felt trivial.
The first pair grasped around the sides of the pallet, easing steadily under the edge.
You took a deep, steadying breath, wanting to take this slowly.
Not out of any fear of hurting yourself - you knew you could handle this with what might've been a concerning degree of certainty - but simply wanting to be careful.
You'd already caused quite a bit of damage today, after all, and losing an entire pallet load of product to that clumsiness was not what you would've called proving yourself.
Slowly, then.
Slowly.
You began to lift.
"Woah. Woah woah woah, is he ACTUALLY...?"
Holleee.. fuck..."
Someone even let out a startled meep.
A single step back.
Two.
You kept your focus, boxes resting precariously against your ample chest.
These stacks had a concerning tendency to topple even while on a pallet jack, so it wasn't just a lifting act, but a balancing one too.
You kept your focus, and slowly turned away from the truck and towards the building.
The pallet was free and clear.
With a faceful of assorted boxed groceries, you couldn't see your co-workers (just tilting your head enough to see where you were going without scuffing the whole thing was challenging enough as it was), but you could clearly hear them.
"Huh. Heh, hey, know what? On second thought, maybe hold the cops..."
"911, what is your emergency?"
"Oh, uhh... s-sorry, nevermind!"
Shuffling as that co-worker hastily stuffed his phone away.
Then a swoosh as someone else pulled out theirs.
"Hey, if we're actually doin' this stupid shit? This is goin' fuckin' viral..."
Good.
This was when you'd want them to start filming you anyway.
Careful, steady steps toward the cargo entrance while your co-workers fell silent.
NOW they were presumably gawking in awe, as well they should be.
You couldn't preen while carrying this thing, but lifted your head a bit, carrying it with equally silent pride.
"Hey, what's taking so long back there!? I got other loads!" came an impatient bellow from the truck's cabin.
"Oh, umm, sorry! Just getting started now!" one of your co-workers hastened to reply.
Shaken from his trance, you heard him scramble over to the pallet jack and the scraping of it being roughly shoved it into the truck.
"Good, hurry up!" the driver demanded. "Buncha useless... whaaat the Hell is that...!?"
You grinned cheekily to yourself.
He'd either taken that moment to check his mirror or glance over his shoulder.
"He's, uhh, helping!" your co-worker tried.
The truck driver didn't reply.
Maybe he was going to call the cops.
Or maybe he was in full not getting paid enough for this shit mode.
Either way, you were crossing the threshold now.
Carefully...
"W-wait!"
A co-worker called out just a LITTLE too late.
There was a crunch and subtle ripping of plastic wrap as the top of the doorframe took a few of your boxes off the top of the mountain...
You could only flinch, your grip on the pallet becoming white knuckle (only to immediately relent a bit when you noted the wood actually start to give under your fingers) as you felt the boxes slam onto your head and merrily ricochet
You thought about trying to catch them, you really did.
Actually gave it due consideration, too, not just a reflexive yes or no.
The speed of thought was faster for Pokemon it seemed, at least in stressful situations.
But much as you might've liked to, you just couldn't afford to risk losing the rest of the pallet.
Your attempt at showing off had been ruined enough as it was.
"Jeeze, be careful!"
"You okay...?"
"I knew this was a bad idea..."
"Ie oaay...."
You looked crestfallen.
Ordinarily, you wouldn't've cared that a few boxes here or there went awry - just chalk it up to shrinkage and move on with your life, wondering if this'll be the time they finally fire you.
But this wasn't about that - this was about making a good first impression and you'd blown it.
You actually felt yourself sag under the weight of the pallet.
How could you call yourself a Machamp if you couldn't do such elementary lifting?
...really not in the mood right now, thanks.
"I ukk onee e ell..."
"Haha, now THIS is some good shit..."
"For the love of... argh, alright, look man, you still gotta get the rest of that in... Just, we'll get the ones you dropped, alright? See if the stuff's still good - I won't even tell the boss lady. But you're gonna slow us down more than help us if you don't get your head in the game."
You had a feeling he was only being so forgiving because this was all being filmed, but you were MORE than happy to take the reprieve.
Smiling a grateful, embarrassed smile, you hastened to shuffle the pallet (much more carefully this time) through the door and into its proper place.
It was harder when your strength felt sapped like this.
You saw the co-worker that had chosen benevolence, Xavier, sigh and the sweary one filming, Antonio, snickering into his hand, while Riley the perpetual scaredy-cat went around gathered the scuffed, dinted boxes from the ground.
Although the setback had been a bit mentally jarring - confidence seemed to be a big factor in your strength - you knew better what to do the second go around and managed to get the pallet off the floor of the truck with only a moderate amount of straining.
Your arms shook at first, but quickly started to firm up as the rush of the lift restored your morale.
This time you managed to get the pallet to the door quicker AND through it without wrecking anything, although you had to stoop down awkwardly to do it.
It was a much more impressive display overall, if you did say so yourself.
Antonio clapped condescendingly and kept filming, while Xavier offered a strained smile and Riley just kept eyeing you warily.
All this while Xavier and Riley brought up the next pallet behind you on the jack.
They paid the fact that Antonio wasn't helping anything little mind - even without a Pokemon to film for his own personal gain, that fucker (as he was known to even quite proudly describe himself) had a myriad of excuses for perpetually goofing off.
You didn't care either.
It just meant more chances to show off and redeem yourself.
And indeed, when all was said and done, the truck was able to driver away with the driver only somewhat loudly complaining about all the delays.
You guessed the dude has chosen not getting paid enough for this shit.
"Well that sure happened," Antonio grinned, finally lowering his phone.
"Oh, you're actually gonna help now?" Xavier questioned sardonically.
"Nope! Gotta upload this shit while it's fresh!"
"Oh forget it," Xavier sighed. "Good news is, the stuff in those boxes wasn't TOO smashable - few chip packets burst in 'em, but mostly salvageable"
"'Ayy!" you cheered, raising all four arms.
"Yeah..." Xavier awkwardly agreed, making a soft seething noise as he tried to decide whether to replace the strained smiles he'd been giving you with genuine ones.
"We're, uhh... g-gonna let him unload the pallets too...?" Riley questioned uncertainly.
"I guess," Xavier shrugged.
Understandably, this was all still quite weird to the guys.
Well all except for the one with dollar signs in his eyes...
"Fuck yeah we are," Antonio grinned, although not looking up from his phone he was eagerly tapping at, prompting another eye-roll from Xavier.
"Hoo... this is a long day..." Riley moaned.
Not for you.
You stood side-on to the still loaded pallets and leaned toward them. Closing your more distant eye, you smirked at the boxes and cracked both sets of knuckles again.
For you, the day was just getting started.