Crate Chronicles: Walter Finds “Crate X,” and the Newsroom Implodes (Again)
Crate X has been spotted. Walter’s not alone anymore…and that might be even worse.
This morning began like all the others lately. Me, coffee, and a silent prayer that today would be less weird than yesterday.
It wasn’t.
Dispatch #5 from Walter hit my inbox at 5:03 a.m., accompanied by an odd smell of bubble wrap and what I’m pretty sure was the sound of a monk chanting “Fragile” outside my office window.
Inside the file, Walter’s newest update.
Inside my newsroom, pandemonium.
For reasons I can’t entirely explain, the primates have begun to…revert. Diesel is smashing keyboards and shouting “SCAN THIS!” at every incoming email. Tilly has built a tower of filing cabinets she’s calling “The Fulfillment Spire” and is charging $5 to “ascend” it.
Banana Joe has stopped speaking altogether and now communicates exclusively by pelting interns with bruised fruit. Zippy, who used to just draw on things, has taken to labeling everything in the office “Return to Sender” in red Sharpie. I found a sticker on my own back this morning that read “Handle With Care (Contains Manager).”
I’m trying to keep this newsroom together while our Editor-in-Chief is apparently making friends with another crate. I’m one bad day away from filing my own self inside a box just to get some quiet.
Here’s what Walter sent me this morning. Dispatch #5, copied word for word:
Dispatch #5: Hello From the Other Side (of the Crate)
To Those Still Living in Unboxed Freedom,
There is…another.
I first heard it last night. Faintly. A rhythm. A tap. Then two. Then silence. At first, I thought it was the bananas staging another passive-aggressive protest (they do that when I ignore their emotional needs). But then I saw it again.
Naturally, I responded the only way I know how. I knocked.
Tap. Tap-tap. Pause. Tap.
A code. A greeting. Possibly an SOS. Possibly a dance beat. Either way, it replied.
Thud. Thud-thud. Pause. Thud.
(Same rhythm I use when stirring oatmeal.)
The message was clear. It understands me. I have named it: Crate X. Crate X and I have now exchanged a total of 17 coded messages, including:
“Are you sentient?”
“Do you have snacks?”
“Blink once for yes.”
“I have a banana with your name on it.”
I believe Crate X is shy. Or wise. Or a government prototype sent to test me. Possibly all three.
Today, Crate X slid something through the wall crack. A single foam peanut; unbruised, unchewed, pristine. This is either a symbol of trust…or a very specific insult.
CRATE-TO-CRATE COMMUNICATION LOG:
Promising.
I have now designated Crate X as “Ally Crate.” Together, we may rise. Perhaps topple this entire sortation regime. Or at least file a complaint to middle management.
For now, I leave you with this thought:
If a crate knocks in the warehouse, and no one’s around to hear it…is it lonely? Or just on mute?
The journey continues.
Yours in gentle knocking and whispered code,
–Walter Winkwink
Editor-in-Crate / Diplomatic Envoy to Crate X / Crate Whisperer
I don’t know how much longer we can do this. The newsroom feels like a bad sequel to Jumanji sponsored by FedEx.
One of the interns swears Tilly’s “Fulfillment Spire” actually levitated this morning. Diesel is now hosting “crate chants” in the breakroom. Banana Joe glued a “Ssshhhh” sticker to the office Roomba and declared it “Crate Y.” And Zippy? Zippy tried to scan my car with a handheld barcode reader from 1998.
At this point, I’m just waiting for Dispatch #6 to arrive via carrier pigeon with a QR code tattoo. Until then, we’ll keep publishing Walter’s dispatches and pray the packing peanuts don’t unionize before Friday.
Pray for us. Or ship us. Honestly, either one works.
More Stories from The Winkverse
- Walter Winkwink Has Gone Missing…Again
Walter sealed himself in a crate to expose a fruit conspiracy. Now he’s somewhere between Toledo and a Roomba’s garage, sending dispatches from inside a box labeled “No Regrets.” - Recollections: The Whispering Typewriter
Walter’s latest memory isn’t just haunted. It’s basically a Yelp review from a ghostly typewriter that knows his life story better than he does. Think less “writer’s block,” more “writer’s being stalked by his own punctuation.” - Update: Walter Sends Second Crate Dispatch, Declares Himself Chosen by Barcode Gods
Walter has officially reached the cardboard enlightenment phase of his journey and now speaks fluent barcode. The newsroom’s only hope is Zippy’s homemade scanner, Tilly’s Bananaifesto, or a coupon code from the gods themselves.
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