I could wait here till hell freezes over for one skid of berries. Why? Because the only PRIME TIME is theirs, mine is unimportant. I can stand in the cooler and watch a forklift operator paste little stickers onto boxes, while the clock ticks a death knell on my already very tight schedule. Bell peppers, stacked all around, are oblivious to my requests, and the man on the phone wants to argue about quantity and time.
After the berries are loaded up, I have five more stops to make. Five more rushed destinations, five more chances to get further behind...the berries are chillin. The guy in the market is heating up.
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