05

The people who ask for our services doesn't want to recognize us as a person.
They want a human, in case they need to complain, in case they get angry.
But you must not have any kind of emotion apart from happy. Almost excited that you are moving shit for people who don't care about you and are very rude. You can't look tired. That will affect your "presentation." I do find comfort in having my personhood unacknowledged. I find comfort in my small, almost rural house. As I sit down and boil my tea I remember yesterday's job. Not today's. Today was simple. Today was easy. Today all we moved was bricks. Not yesterday though. Yesterday we moved something else. A package. Within the boundaries of our services, but a special package anyway. It was a transparent plastic box filled to the brim with open envelopes, letters sticking out from them and words forming against the clear walls of the cube.
There was one letter on top, just below the address label. It read "but I do not for one second believe you believed you really wanted this. I do not. I truly don't and I don't understand how you," the rest of the letter covered by another envelope.
The package was addressed to a small residential address, no name, nothing. When I arrived and knocked on the door, a man in a robe came out and grabbed it. Without looking at me, he grabbed the box and closed the door. In some cases we ask for a signature, but this wasn't one of them.
Steam keeps floating off my cup. I fear, I always have, that all forms of steam end up stuck on the roof, blotching, spotting, bleaching the unreachable. I drink.