“Kel, it’s your poster-boy Mohammed.”
This is Neil, the human resources manager – a competent smartass.
“Jesus,” I said.
“No, Mohammed,” replied Neil dryly.
“How did you get a job in HR with your complete lack of interest in people?” I asked.
He ignored the question. “What do you want to do?”
I looked at the time, 8:50 a.m. “I’ll meet you down there. Let Tori know I’m coming.”
“I’m going to have to notify WorkSafe – plant overturning.”
This is Tori, the newly-minted safety adviser still finding her voice – a Cook Islander who looked out of place in the freezer. I looked at the forklift truck. It was cantered over on two wheels.