Vignette - Warehouse Mixup

Keeley walked down the warehouse's dimmed aisle, fiddling as she did with her phone to call her Uber. She wasn’t drunk, exactly, but she could only walk in a mostly straight line. It was enough that she would rather get a cab. She still heard the revelry of the Christmas party going on behind her with seasonal music and raucous laughter echoing through the warehouse. She had things to do in the morning, unlike her co-workers, and left the party early.

It had been a great party and even though it wasn't Halloween almost half of the warehouse employees had dressed up, not merely in Christmas finery, but in Christmas costumes. And Keeley was among them, dressed as she was in a toy soldierette costume, complete with red circle cheeks and a homemade cardboard key. The key itself was the most fun but also the most annoying. She could feel it on her back, bouncing slightly as she walked. It would fall out eventually, or she would have to take it out for her Uber. Keeley thought about taking it out now, but decided against it. Being a toy was simply too much fun.

As she put away her phone and focused, or tried to focus, on walking straight, a burst of glittery pink smoke jumped in front of her face. Keeley shouted and jumped back while waving her hand in front of her face. She swatted at the pink . . . thing, treating it like a bug. And, like a bug, whatever it was got out of her field of view. Keeley spun around and looked for it, if only to figure out what it was. And then she felt something hit her in her back, just where her cardboard key met her red soldierette jacket.

Everything slowed down. Something was happening to Keeley, but she didn't know what, or why, aside from the pink lights that now swirled lazily around her body. She didn't understand why the key in her back felt solid, heavy, and real. Why her body felt stiff. Why she couldn't seem to pull her fingers apart. And why she was happy and smiling about it all.

She felt her key begin to warm in a pleasant way as tendrils of soothing heat radiated through her back and into her body. Keeley turned to see what was happening, or tried to, when the surprising weight of the key fell away.

It clanged to the concrete floor, its metallic sound reverbing through the warehouse, and Keeley froze mid turn. Her arms were cocked at the elbows and her face a mask of surprised happiness. Her body leaned forward just slightly. Her body and mind slowed and came to a rest like she was sleeping standing up.

Except she could see and hear and think about the world. She saw the AutoCart drive along the caution tape down the warehouse aisle, its little yellow light spinning to warn humans of its presence. Keeley stared at it from her unblinking gaze. It was coming to her. The AutoCart was a bit of a dummy, she knew from experience; it did over half the work in the warehouse, but sometimes it would be totally lost without Keeley or one of her coworkers.

But there were no other coworkers around now, and Keeley couldn't move. Couldn't speak. She couldn't reach out and work the AutoCart's control panel to send it away. So it came to her and raised its scanner. Red light ran over her body for just a second. The robot chirped its 'success' noise and it unfolded its armature.

Keeley's eyes went a hairs breadth wider as the arm wrapped around her middle. She thought for a moment that the fingers would squeeze the air out of her, but the machine was surprisingly gentle even as it lifted Keeley clear from the ground. She didn't --couldn't-- move on her own while the AutoCart turned her so her back went parallel to the ground, and laid her on its flatbed. Her legs were now at a slightly raised angle and from her awkward angle Keeley could just see the tips of her black soldier boots.

She looked past them, her fixed gaze forcing her to look up and a little to the side at the corrugated metal ceiling and upper most shelves. High up there she saw red soldier dolls meant to go out to stores for decoration.

Oh no, Keeley thought, thinking about the imperfect nature of the AutoCart. The way, without a barcode it could mix up items. The way she was dressed very much like those Toy soldiers. Dressed to be like them. Oh no, oh no, oh no, she thought as her key was loaded up beside her. The AutoCart couldn't tell the difference between her and the display dolls and she couldn't tell it otherwise.

The AutoCart rolled back to life, returning back and to the shipping area. It took Keeley away from help and toward a new life in a toy store window.

But Keeley couldn't stop smiling.