Fulfillment Center - Part IV
In Part III of “Fulfillment Center,” Amber’s sister Dani returns home in need of help. Amber accompanies Dani for an abortion. A conversation with her mother later causes Amber to reassess her father’s dependence on her and her alone.
At 4:30 AM, I went to the warehouse to quit. It felt like the right thing to do, even though I didn’t have anything lined up afterwards. Charlie’s face lit up when he saw me on the floor, then morphed into confusion when I walked past our station, all the way to the manager’s office. Marvin sat in a swiveling chair, typing away at a bulky Lenovo desktop.
“I wanted to put in my two weeks’ notice,” I said, causing him to glance up. “Or can I just leave now?”
“Hm,” he said. He started clicking though a series of screens. I cleared my throat and felt exposed. Like I was making some grand statement: I’m better than you, and that’s why I’m quitting.
Finally, Marvin glanced up. “Your last manager gave you a good performance review,” he said. “Sure you don’t want to stay? We can get you a Blue Badge.”
“Blue Badge?”
“What we give our full-time employees,” he said. “More time off, benefits, plus a raise. You’re a hard worker, Amber. You inspire people. Has anyone told you that before?”
I forced a smile. I’d heard those words from a strange cast of people: Angelo, Charlie, Alexis, Dani. Apparently I was some kind of role model. Only these days, that had become less of a compliment.
“I thought you were always hiring people,” I said. “You really have an open spot?”
He shrugged. “Your diploma goes a long way. Do you want the raise or not?”
No was the first word that popped into my mind. I questioned that impulse, though. What was I really turning down: better pay, better hours, benefits? It was better than anything 19-Hour Fitness could offer.
Marvin sighed, then angled the monitor to face me. On the screen was a list of grinning employees wearing different-colored name tags. Gary Winters, 20+ years at Amazon, silver badge, one caption read. The article continued with a testimonial from Gary: At Amazon, you can build a new life!
“That’s what I’m going for,” he said. “Imagine being that guy. No skills, no degree, but he does tech stuff for them now. They gave him free training and everything.”
The rest of the article explained the hierarchy—how Yellow Badges, Red Badges, Purple Badges, and Silver Badges all gave you increasing perks. I thought about Charlie’s anime, the teenagers and their life plans. How I had coasted through school just by putting one foot in front of the other. Some people found it inspirational, but that was just life—moving, moving. What was the alternative?
Gary Winters’s face grinned back at me from the screen. It scared me how compelled I was by him. I stared at the monitor, none of the words sinking in.
“So?” Marvin said.
“Give me a second,” I said. The letters on the screen took on shape again. I thought of Mom, who was doing overtime at the hospital this weekend. At her current salary, it’d take her ten more years to pay off Dad’s bills.
*****
I went back to my workstation for the last time. Charlie pounced immediately. “So what?” he said. “Are you in trouble?”
“I got promoted,” I told him. “I’m Blue Badge now. Full-time. They moved me to day shift.”
It took a few seconds for Charlie to process this. Then he smiled. “Congrats,” he said. You’re climbing the ladder.”
“I guess.”
Charlie rocked on his heels, glancing around to see if Marvin was watching. “So wait, full-time? What does that mean? Are you hired forever or something?”
“It means I get health insurance. And I get more time off, in case something happens.”
“Oh.” He paused. “Is your dad—”
“He’s fine. For now. We’re moving him into hospice.”
“Shit,” he said.
His touchscreen beeped, and he jumped. “You know, I should get back to this.”
“I just came to say bye.”
He turned back to his box, paused, then wheeled back to face me. “I’m sorry for what I said the other day,” he said. “It’s your life. Do whatever.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I shouldn’t have been so preachy about high school; it doesn’t matter.”
“It does. But I guess I knew that.”
“Yeah,” I responded, once again at a loss.
Charlie clamped his box shut and sent it down the line, already reaching for the next receipt. From where I stood, he looked a little more like an adult. Even with the too-big glasses. Even with the slouch in his shoulders.
“You used the wrong size box,” I found myself saying. “That’s half a point if Marvin sees.”
Maybe I should’ve said something else. Like see you later. Or good luck with the car. But the impulse to give advice, to help, still burned in me. I hated myself for it.
“Speaking of Marvin, you should probably go soon,” he said, not unkindly. “If he finds you hanging around, he might change his mind about the Blue Badge.”
“Right,” I said. I watched Charlie fiddle with the flaps of another box. Then I took one last look at my empty workstation. They’d find a way to replace me by tomorrow.
“Maybe I’ll see you at Denny’s sometime,” I finally managed. He cracked a smile but didn’t speak. I glanced up—Marvin was on the floor again. I took the cue and left.
*****
That was the last night I ever talked to Charlie. We meant to keep up with each other on Instagram, but we never got around to it. Outside of our shifts, we didn’t have enough in common. It was too boring to talk about Amazon, too intimate to talk about our personal lives.
I did end up watching the gambling anime. Some part of me was expecting adventure, depth, meaning. Maybe some commentary on fate. But the opening sequence was just panty shot after panty shot, accompanied by a cutesy jazz soundtrack. I quit the show after thirty seconds.
Six months later, I was helping my new manager remove malware from her office computer. Feeling bold, I clicked into the employee files—just to see my record, I told myself. By accident, I found a file labeled “Charles Benjamin.” Terminated Dec. 2015, the screen read.
In the file was a list of all the points Charlie had earned and why. One of the points was for talking back. It was sometime in late November, one month after I’d transferred to day shift. I couldn’t imagine Charlie raising his voice to anyone.
But really, it could’ve been anything. Maybe Charlie had been using his phone again. Maybe his new neighbor had ratted him out for talking too much. Or maybe something in him had snapped, the same way it had for Mom when she kicked Dani out.
I sat back in the manager’s chair and felt for the something inside of me. Maybe it’d already snapped long ago, so long ago that I couldn’t remember what it felt like. Or maybe I just didn’t have it, whatever it was. By the time my manager returned, I’d wiped the computer history and gone back to the floor. The malware was still somewhere in her hard drive; I hadn’t bothered to clean it out.
*****
Four years later, I got my Yellow Badge. Management planned a party for promoted employees—invite your families! I picked Dani, because Mom would be at work and Dad was dead. Peacefully, quietly, he’d passed away in hospice care a few months after I got my Blue Badge.
After his death, I dreamt about him almost every week. I’d be young again, playing Frisbee with him on the driveway. Or I’d be walking in our house, circling, hearing his rattling breaths in every room. I’d call Dani after waking up from those dreams, if only to hear her voice. “If you’re interested,” I added one day, “Amazon’s having a weird party next Friday. You should come.”
Predictably, Dani arrived in the parking lot half an hour after the ceremony. Annabelle toddled next to her, Barbies in both hands. I hadn’t invited Josh, and was afraid he’d come too, but it was just the two of them. Too relieved to be upset at Dani, I showed her my new badge, edged in gold and bearing a black-and-white headshot.
Amber, the tag read, leaving off my last name in an attempt to be “friendly” and “personable.” As if all of us at the warehouse knew each other. As if we were all on a first-name basis: Amber, Berline, Marvin.
I showed Dani around the warehouse, pointing out the different stations. A third of the way through, Annabelle whimpered and asked to be picked up. Dani’s ankles started to kill her. Sweat beaded on her forehead, turning her glossy.
“You have to work here?” she managed. “This place sucks.”
“You get used to it,” I said. Behind me, a screen beeped, and Annabelle started to fuss.
Dani rubbed her back, bounced her into silence. I watched with faint admiration—I could never be a mother. “So what exactly do you do here?” she asked, wrinkling her nose as we walked past the recycling area.
“I used to do Scanning, but I Problem Solve now. I walk around and make sure people are doing their jobs right. If they’re not, I fix the issue. It’s pretty straightforward.”
“Sure,” Dani said. “But what people?”
I glanced back at the floor. I’d grown used to the sight by now, but I could see why visitors found it strange. Hundreds of fluorescent orange, self-driving robots swarmed the warehouse, transporting and shelving merchandise while the occasional worker scanned and packed. It was hard to remember how a fleet of people had once moved all these boxes, walked up and down all these aisles.
A robot wheeled past us, lights blinking. “This one’s low on power,” I explained to Annabelle, making flashing motions with my hands. Her face went bright, and she thrashed the Barbies in her hands. We walked the bot to its charging station, watching as it docked itself in place.
“If I stick around, they’ll teach me how to program these things,” I said. “Imagine what kinds of jobs I could get.”
“Who knew you liked computers,” Dani scoffed. “Nerd.”
We lingered for a few more minutes, watching the bots sort boxes. Then I walked Dani to the warehouse entrance and back to the parking lot. It was evening; the freeway would be backed up for miles in her direction. I suggested driving her to Mayflower Park to wait out the traffic.
Dani agreed. I drove us in the Toyota, parking between two SUVs and leading us to the playground. Mayflower was surprisingly packed—families played soccer on the grass, and a group of middle schoolers flashed past us on their skateboards. The swing set swarmed with kids. Annabelle shrieked in joy, making a beeline for the playground.
“I’ll watch her,” I offered, but Dani didn’t respond. She was squinting at someone in the parking lot, wrinkles compressing her forehead.
“Isn’t that your elementary school friend?” she said. “Alex, or something?”
I followed her gaze, prepared to disagree. But it was Alexis, leaning against a pick-up truck, yelling something into her phone. I hadn’t talked to her in years, much less known that she’d moved back to Eastwood. I watched as a man exited the driver’s seat and lit a cigarette, hovering next to Alexis until she hung up.
Dani had already walked ahead to supervise Annabelle. I stood still, watching Alexis and the man talk. Their expressions were hard to read, but then they leaned in for a kiss, the man’s cigarette still steaming. At least they looked happy.
It occurred to me that I was still wearing my Yellow Badge. Tucking it into my shirt, I glanced back up and realized that Alexis was walking away. Part of me wanted to call her name, fling my arms open. Part of me wanted to hide my face, like I had with my exes at 19-Hour.
But the part of me that understood Eastwood won out, and I walked on to meet Dani and Annabelle. I’d lived here long enough to know that people always came back, and always for reasons you never anticipated. There was something perpetually unfinished about this place. Businesses were always closing and opening. Land was always being cleared for more houses. If you stayed here long enough, maybe the world would come to you. And if it didn’t, after years and years of waiting, at least you were somewhere that felt like home.
Annabelle had planted herself in the grass, plucking out weeds. Dani lay next to her, murmuring something into her ear. I joined them, stretching out flat on my back. “Look at Auntie Amber,” Annabelle giggled, and went back to being distracted by her world.
Lying on the grass, the earth loud and bright around me, I almost felt like my eighteen-year-old self. Even if everything else had changed, Mayflower Park was still Mayflower Park. And the sun was still setting past the San Gabriel mountains, casting the baseball fields in a dreamlike glow. Just for a second, closing my eyes in the golden light, I could imagine that every possibility was opening up before me again.
Ariel Chu is a PhD candidate in Creative Writing and Literature at the University of Southern California. She received an MFA in Creative Writing from Syracuse University, where she was awarded the Shirley Jackson Prize in Fiction. Ariel has been published by The Rumpus, Black Warrior Review, and The Common, among others. Her works have been nominated for the Pushcart Prize, Best of the Net Award, and Best Short Fictions Anthology, and she has received support from the Steinbeck Fellowship, the Luce Scholars Program, and the P.D. Soros Fellowship for New Americans.
Check out more of her work here.