With one unfortunate slip, he had fallen off the crane, hitting his head on the way down as his unharnessed figure plummeted into the water. A splash. A floating body. The long-serving, star employee of New York Marine Corporation, was dead.
Robbie was there that day, working his shift on the docks when he heard about the accident. Greg had been Robbie’s mentor ever since he started working at the quay all those years ago. He’d showed him the ropes around the wharf and taught him the art of docking. Since his death, strangely enough, the number of cockroaches increased around the port – on the cargo and in the machines. An infestation. The exterminators were called up. Within a few hours the boss had found Greg’s replacement. Like the motto Greg used to say, “Business on the docks don’t stop for no one.”. The ships keep coming into port and out, whether you’re there or not.
As he was operating the forklift one grey morning, Robbie pondered about the nature of the universe, how it had no meaning, how spontaneous and random reality was. His job, how repetitive! Unloading, loading, loading, unloading. But he admired the repetition, the symmetry of it all. It was like an artwork, each coloured container one piece in a mosaic of cargo! He liked coming into work at early dawn when the pier was quiet, and the bay was at rest. Working by the water was nice at times, though he didn’t know how to swim. The mystery of the ocean intrigued him, but he was always drawn back to what he was accustomed to – the familiar boats anchored at the quay, and the endless rows of cargo in the marina. Often on his lunch breaks, as he sat at his usual spot with his legs dangling off the wharf’s edge, Robbie would let his eyes wander beyond the harbour, out into the open sea, where the water is deep, and the waves are violent. Once death drifts you away, there’s no coming back to shore.
He thought about Greg. How he had worked there for years, how he had a family waiting for him back home. For a while you’re living and existing in the world, and in an instant, you’re gone, vanishing forever, reduced to a pile of ashes, sinking down to the depths of the sea. Passing beings, desperately attempting to capture fleeting moments of pleasure and despair in an incoherent world we don’t understand and never will. It made Robbie anxious, though it should have made him feel liberated. He was free, alive, even if it was only for a brief second in the light years of eternity (a made-up but awe-inspiring construct). He was here, he existed, but he could not confidently say that he thrived. He should have been living this lottery life pursuing his passion, loving, forming meaningful connections with people, learning, reading, travelling, exploring, creating art, discovering everything about being human and making the most out of this gift. But that was too hard, he convinced himself, he didn’t have time. Robbie was lazy, he couldn’t be bothered. After a long day at work, he crawled back home as quickly as possible without saying goodbye to anyone and rotted his brain in his dark living room watching the late-night show while binge-eating cheap microwaved pasta. If the universe is indifferent to him, he decided he would be indifferent to the universe. He never fully appreciated how beautiful it was, despite its absurdity. As insignificant as he was, he could have at least rejoiced at the magnitude of the cosmos his brain could never comprehend or ever need to. He may not have been born for a reason, but he could create his purpose. His meaning and identity.
He thought about his own death, how distant it seemed. People died daily but he felt like he would live forever. Plenty of time left, he reassured himself. He did not want to admit the fact that if he had died in his shift today, he would’ve been replaced by another worker the next morning. All the hard work he put into the company, would quickly be forgotten. His handwriting in the workers logbook would disappear with time until all that would be left were his fingerprints on the machinery, mixed with a thousand others, and after a certain point, merely the fact that he once placed his hand there, even though no one would know. But the universe would know, it saw all and everything he did because he was a part of it, just by existing, he left his mark on it.
Despite his depressive attitude towards his job, he was comfortable in his position, and in his high-visibility uniform. He was content with his mediocre salary, as long as he got a measly week off for the Christmas holidays, and the occasional nod of approval from his boss, as if it affirmed “You are valued! Keep up the good work!”. Did he ever consider changing careers? No. Transferring to a new job? No. He never saw the need to, and even if he did, he wouldn’t have the nerve.
When Robbie’s shift was finished for the day, he packed his belongings and parted with the break room’s vending machine. On his way out, he spotted a dead cockroach by the gates, laying on its armour-like back, with its dangly legs sticking up. Didn’t pest control get rid of them after the accident? Turns out they’d never left. The docks were crawling with cockroaches. They’d been there all along, in human form; loading cargo, operating machinery, and they remain there still. Robbie was one of them.
