Molly's - Chapter 12 [Tankiverse Fanfic]

[Hippin_in_Hawaii 639]

Molly’s - Chapter 12
Fanfic in the Tankiverse by Hippin_in_Hawaii

Forklifts are deceptive things. On the surface, they’re quite simple. The vehicle has a lever that toggles between forward, neutral, and reverse. There’s an accelerator pedal, a brake pedal, and a parking brake. Like a car, I think, but with fewer controls.

The steering is different than a car or a bicycle, though. The rear wheels steer, and the forklift pivots around the front wheels. It feels weird at first, being pushed sideways as you turn, but the design means you can pivot 90 degrees with very little forward movement, which is handy in the aisles of a warehouse.

Aside from that, the forks travel up and down on the mast. The mast can be tilted forward or backward, and the distance between the forks can be changed. Sounds simple, no?

It started the Monday after the coconut intervention. As I passed Molly on my way to drop my stuff in my locker, she handed me a small booklet. “Conrad is waiting for you in the yard,” is all she said.

I glanced at the book. It was old, tattered, and had greasy fingerprints all over it, but the cover was still clearly legible: Operators Manual Nishigumi Models RFN-113, RFL-117/A, RFN-133/233. I shrugged, tossed my backpack in my locker (my locker!), and trotted outside.

Conrad was sitting in the shade of the warehouse, leaning against the wall, the image of comfort and relaxation. “Morning, Tad,” he called. I trotted over to sit beside him.

“You want me to read this?” I asked.

“Cover to cover. Twice. But wake me up once you’ve finished it the first time.” With that, he pulled his cap down over his eyes and settled into a more relaxed position, something I wouldn’t have thought was possible.

I opened the cover. It turns out that the RFN/RFL series are forklifts manufactured by, you guessed it, Nishigumi. The manual was excruciatingly boring. Of its 114 pages, maybe a dozen had useful information about how to actually operate the things. Maybe another dozen had useful information on maintenance. The remainder were full of warnings and precautions. I imagined that an owners manual for a venomous snake would have fewer warnings than this.

Closing the last page, I nudged Conrad, who lifted his cap. “What did you think?” he asked.

“These things are like spitting cobras, and should never be approached or otherwise handled,” I responded in my best dead-serious voice.

He laughed. “OK, I’m glad to see you’re taking safety to heart. Maybe some of those warnings are a little on the obvious side, but I want you to really think about the quantity of them. There are a lot of ways to hurt yourself and other people with a forklift, and most of them boil down to carelessness and inattention. Operating the machine is really quite easy. So is messing up. Wait here.”

He popped to his feet and strode into the nearest door. A few minutes later, the loading door for bay two opened, and out he came, driving the lift. He parked it in the middle of the yard, then waved me over. “Read the manual again, cover to cover. This time, take the time to look at the machine as well as the illustrations. Do the inspections. Locate the controls. I’m taking the keys, so you can’t accidentally do anything, so feel free to press the pedals, move the levers, touch everything. Inasmuch as you can, practice. Come get me when you’re feeling comfortable.”

I spent about an hour. Like I said, there really wasn’t much content in the book, but I liked having the machine (it was an RFL-117, if you’re interested. Not a /A, just the basic model) to look at and touch. I did the initial inspection a couple of times, being fairly sure Conrad would want to see me do that. I also inspected the hydraulic seals and the reservoir level as recommended in the maintenance section. The rest of the time, I sat behind the wheel, moved the levers, pressed the pedals, and may have made the occasional “vroom vroom” or “beep beep” noises. Then I went to get Conrad.

As expected, he watched me go through the initial inspection. Then he handed me the keys. “Start it up, go forward ten meters, stop, and park.”

I took a deep breath and tried to control my racing heart, then leapt into the driver’s seat.

“Stop!” he barked. “Get off, start over.”

Ok. Right. Making sure to grab the assist handle, I got off the RFL-117, took a step back, then started forward again.

“Stop! I said, start over.”

Deep breath. Another. Don’t blow this. I took a step back, then walked slowly around the machine, performing the safety inspection. You remember, the one I had just done in front of him like two minutes ago? Yeah, that one. Having made sure that no leaks had sprung or any parts fallen off during the last two minutes, I climbed deliberately into the seat and inserted the keys.

“Stop. Get off, start over.”

I sat there for a minute, focusing on my breathing, before dismounting. I took a step back, then commenced to walk around the RFL, doing the initial inspection. Then I mounted it, supporting myself with the grip assist and the seat back. Once seated, I made sure to inspect every control. Parking brake, set. Drive in neutral. Lift control in neutral. Steering centered, more or less. I reached up to adjust both rear-view mirrors. I belted myself in. Looking forward, I announced in a loud, clear voice, “Clear forward.” Turning to the left, I announced in a loud, clear voice, “Clear left.” Turning to the right, I announced in a loud, clear voice, “Clear right.” Then twisting around, I looked over my shoulder, announcing in a loud, clear voice, “Clear behind.” Then I inserted the keys, and paused to look at Conrad. He nodded with an approving smile. I twisted the key.

Electric vehicles don’t make any real noise when you turn them on, just a single “beep,” so that was anticlimactic, but lights on the dash came on. I checked the gauges for battery charge and hydraulic pressure; both looked good. I sat there for a minute. What came next? I knew I needed to press the brake pedal before disengaging the parking brake, but I needed to put it in gear before that (which is counterintuitive if you ask me). But I was missing something. I just knew it. I’d skimmed over the manual twice, and I was forgetting something.

Sigh.

“I don’t remember what comes next.” It cost me a lot to say those words, but I knew if I got it wrong, I’d be restarting anyway. What could it hurt to ask?

Conrad smiled. “It’s ok to ask and best to be sure, Tadpole. Tilt the mast to the rear then raise the forks a bit.”

Right! The mast was the first lever. Forward for down, backwards for up. I grabbed it, pulled back… and the forks started to rise. No! First lever for forks, second lever for mast!

“Stop! Lower the forks, shut it off, and start again.”

And so it went. I actually got the sequence correct the next time, but got things turned around when Conrad told me to shut it off after successfully moving ten meters. Then he made me do the entire sequence again to back up the same ten meters. Once I had accomplished that, he had me repeat the sequence ten more times. Inspect. Mount. Startup. Move forward. Park. Shutdown. Dismount. Inspect. Mount. Startup. Move backwards. Park. Shutdown.

Then we added turns: left; right; full about. Then we added moving the forks: up; down; separate; close; shift left; shift right. Then tilting the mast; forward; rear; center. Over and over and over, doing just the simplest of tasks, with Conrad unforgivingly barking “Stop! Park, shut it off, do it over” every time I made a mistake. I hated it.

When I came in Tuesday, Conrad and the RFL were waiting. He had spray painted lines in the dirt to represent the corridors and aisles of the warehouse. We spent all morning with me approaching the lift, inspecting it, getting it running, then moving around a corner or two. If I smudged a line, I had to park, shut down, repaint the line, then restart. If I made a mistake in a sequence, or took a shortcut of any kind, I’d hear “Stop!” And so passed the morning.

After lunch, Conrad placed a couple of empty pallets on the ground inside the “aisles.” This was actually challenging. Getting the forks lined up just right, inching them into the gap without touching anything, lifting a pallet and moving it without crossing the lines, setting it down, sliding the forks out without moving the pallet… that was all hard! When I left at the end of the day, I was frustrated at how poorly I felt I was doing.

Wednesday, the empty pallets had been replaced by pallets with boxes. Empty boxes, but boxes nonetheless. The entire day was dedicated to moving those pallets from one spot to another then back again. Over. And over. And over. Seriously, all day.

Thursday, the pallets were stacked. And they had some weight to them. Which, it turns out, made some aspects of the job easier. If you jar a pallet that’s piled with empty boxes, the empty boxes fall off. If the boxes have some weight, and therefore some inertia, a little tap doesn’t cause a boxalanche. But I didn’t deliver many taps; I’d had that drilled out of me the previous day.

Friday, the pallets were stacked higher. Taller than the top of the lift.

Saturday, there were lines painted on the ground, and a small mountain of pallets off to one side. And Conrad was there. He’d never been there over a weekend, at least not while I had been around, but he was there. For me. “Build a maze,” he said, “four pallets tall.” It took me nearly all day, and once I had to take part of it apart because I’d managed to block myself, but when I was done, it was perfect. The pallets were stacked evenly with edges flush, and the piles ran in straight lines.

Sunday, someone had painted red Xs on many of the pallets. “Take the red ones out,” he said. That was devilish; most of the red ones were not on the top of their respective piles, so I had to move other pallets out of the way. Which meant I had to find a temporary place to stack them that didn’t obstruct me.

“Put the red ones back where they came from,” was Monday. I finished that before lunch. “Take the maze down, and stack the crates over there.” I finished that before closing time. Conrad watched me carefully, but didn’t say a thing.

After I finished, he came over to me. “Tadpole, you have been an exemplary pupil. You are deliberate, careful, and very attentive to your driving. Do not let that change.” He paused, then continued. “You are now a probationary forklift operator. You are not to use this machine unsupervised, but you are cleared to use it in the daily performance of your duties. You have access to the warehouse and will be expected to both store and retrieve items as needed.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “Congratulations, Tad.” He extended his hand for a proper handshake, which I was happy to provide. “Come on. Let me show you where to park this thing.”

I was trembling a bit as we walked into the warehouse and Conrad showed me the charging station, then watched as I put the RFL to bed for the night. I patted the machine on the mast. “See you tomorrow, Rafael,” I whispered.

Mahalo (thank you) for reading; I hope you enjoyed! This story is part of a series. Information on the series, and links to the other stories, can be found here.

 

[Flexoo 6,980]

Approved.

 

Edits: Ou please. It's from Hippin for Pete's sake.

[TankiNoob2000 231]

Another great addition ;)

[P.4.R.K.O.U.R 329]

What a lovely read.

[tweezers 1,034]

 

 “See you tomorrow, Rafael,” 

 

SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEE name puns! 

[P.4.R.K.O.U.R 329]

SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEE name puns!

??

These puns are not dumb enough to be understood by me...

[GrandExecutioner 1,403]

Oh man. I've missed so many chapters.  :(

[tweezers 1,034]

??

These puns are not dumb enough to be understood by me...

RFL to Rafael.

 

At least, I think so  :ph34r:

 

 

 

[Hippin_in_Hawaii 639]

RFL to Rafael.

 

At least, I think so  :ph34r:

Nailed it!