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Researching stories on forklift truck accidents has had a surprisingly nostalgic effect on me. In my carefree days before uni when I was saving to fulfil my dreams of circumnavigating the globe, I worked in a factory boxing up rather well known environmentally friendly and fruity smelling cosmetics.
Now as this was before my days as somewhat of a personal injury and work place accident know-it-all, I was somewhat horrified when they handed me standard issue black steel-capped boots. Did they really expect me, a lady who fancied herself as a girl of fashion to don these ugly looking clumpy boots? Alas so they did with some talk of safety regulations and risk assessment evaluations, so the boots went on and I got down to work.
It was not long after working in the "picking" department, (where all the orders are put together), that I was soon promoted to the "check out" department where the deliveries were packaged up and sent to the "despatch team". Now this was a particularly exciting prospect as not only did it involve using the special handheld barcode scanners that made a satisfying bleeping noise, but it also meant I was only one step away from being offered to move up the ranks to a "forklift truck operative".
As I had already honed my skills of machinery operation on my dad's sit on lawn mower, I thought that I would make the perfect candidate for driving one of the prestigious forklifts. I could do 360 turns and reverse with ease. I was the lawn mowing Queen.
The day of forklift truck training selection was soon upon me and I stood waiting eagerly in line like a child waiting to be picked for the rounder's team. The supervisor called our names out, my hope soared, surely mine would be next? Then it was all over. My colleagues skipped off towards the yellow beacons of forklift joy and I was left standing there with my expectant grin being to fade. My supervisor was walking towards me and tried to console me with her kind words of praise.
"We've decided you're too valuable on check in, no one else can sort orders as fast as you so we're keeping you here. You don't mind do you?"
My supervisor looked at me fiercely. Obviously this was not a matter that was really up for discussion. My dreams as a fork lift driver were over in one fail swoop. I was gutted to say the least, but I swallowed my disappointment like the good worker I was and went back to my "check-in" desk.
Although I was never to fulfil my dreams of driving a forklift, I was still the best "check-in" assistant on my shift, that couldn't be half bad. I perked myself up with a consolatory sniff of the coconut body butter and got on with packaging the parcels.
About two weeks later, one of my fellow workers who had been one of the lucky ones put through to her forklift truck training, crashed it. As forklift truck accidents go, it wasn't a serious one but it was enough to get the girl who was already on her final warning to be given the final shove. Perhaps it was best I didn't learn to drive the forklift trucks after all.
