The Steaming Rants of Ernie Wight

The White Stuff

I don't use the White Stuff myself, just deliver it to those who do. The White Stuff comes in different varieties, and long-term users get very odd indeed if you give them the wrong sort. I've learnt to recognise the signs as I come in the door, and start apologising before they even get the first few words out.

The two main types of White Stuff are Green, and Blue, in that order, and split about 60-40. The trouble is, under sodium light, both those colours turn black. They are both packaged in identical sizes, and I've struggled before to distinguish one type of black White Stuff from another. In the early days I would leave the headlights on and double-check the colours, but as you might have gathered, that's not an option in the wet.

Load management is the key to keeping the two types of White Stuff apart, and here I get some help from one of my previous spells of (continuous) employment. I can use nautical terminology Port and Starboard. Green is the universal colour for starboard, so I pack the Green stuff on the right side of the flatbed. Blue is not a regular light on vessels, but the P for port again is appropriate, because the Blue White Stuff is Pasteurised.

There is also some Red White Stuff, and I would have stowed that on the left side, except that there is so little of it on board that I keep it in a special locker at the rear of the van (Red for rear ?). Red is skimmed, which is hardly asked for at all in the wholesale business. Green, Semi-skimmed, is 60% of the customer base.

There is a lot of White Stuff on the van today, and I'm getting shoulder pains again as I muscle the crates around. Full crates are lifted down and carried into Nursing home doorways, newsagents, hotel kitchens, garage and garden centre shops; empty crates are carried back to the van where more full crates are moved around to keep the load distributed and create holes into which the empties can be securely lodged. I don't want to wake up in the road lying in a heap of White Stuff surrounded by blue flashing lights.

The pains are caused by a combination of factors: RSI from my previous career as a Software Engineer, cramped driving positions, and the enormous chip on my shoulder, (and once more I can't be arsed to apologise for the pun). The chip is named Fast-Track-Visas, and is the reason I'm now Ernie Wight. I'll let my dead men's shoes do the talking for a while.