Supplemental Interview covering the Incident on 6/6/2043

I understand that the events on 6/6/2043 are incredible, that why I put “wrong side of probability/fate” into box 13 when asked for the underlying cause of the accident. I continue to stand by that assessment.

My foreman Frank and I were the only ones scheduled to work the night shift leaving me to move the latest shipment of 127 to the second floor storage area myself. As usual Frank put on his noise dampeners, and was pretending that he wasn’t listening to music.

I hooked into the first pallet and drove to the freight elevator only to discover that it was not working. I thought I’d try to raise the forks as high as I could, and see if it cleared the balcony railing. About 8 feet from the height I needed the lift started to tip. I decided my best bet would be to grab a length of carbon cord and a pulley from the maintenance room. I attached the pulley to the balcony railing, and lowered the rope. Then, I got a medium sized plastic trash can, and one of the promotional Nuuskin thermoses that were accidently delivered to act as a scoop. With can and thermos in hand, I climbed up my lift to the pallet. Frank sat with his back to me nodding his head in time to his music.

I attached one end of the cord to the trash can and opened the container of 127. Balancing on a fork, I began to fill the can with 127 using the thermos as a scoop. I now know that 127 is a very dense material, and that it has been estimated that I had scooped around 195kg into the can. It is important to remember that I weigh between 68-70kg on any given day. My legs trembled as I strained to pull the trash can up to the balcony. Then I slipped.

I kicked the can hard, and watched it head to the floor. I noticed that I had wrapped the cord around my hand too late to undo it, and found myself heading up towards the railing. My hand met the bottom of the pulley and the trash can hit the floor. My fingers snapped. The can broke apart spilling 127 everywhere.

Now lighter than me, the barrel shot past as I began my quick descent leaving a trail of 127 in the air. I passed by the cloud as the AC kicked in, blowing it into my face. I landed hard on a fork and heard a snap in my ankle. My now bloody fingers slipped from the cord, and I tumbled backwards. Without being tied to my hand, the trash can came down again.

I landed folded up between the seat and the controls pressing on the accelerator with the now almost empty can on top of me spilling the remaining 127 over my head. The lift lurched backwards and I was off heading straight towards Frank. I screamed at him, but he remained ignorant of the fact that a co-worker wedged in a lift was flying towards him with a cracked and mostly empty barrel of 127. It’s strange but right before I hit him I could swear I heard his music and stranger still, I saw him both get hit, not get hit, fall down, and not fall down. I seemed to simultaneously hear Aloha Oe, Robert Johnson, and Iz not as a mashup, but as simultaneous individual soundtracks to my failure. I watched him go flying onto the board in my side mirror before passing out.

Yesterday I told my story to the Department of Energy investigators numerous times. I told it to a room full of people 8 times in fact. The last time they brought in all the interns and the secretaries before I complained. You’ll have to excuse me if I seem a little tired of explaining the events that led to the worst day of my life for the amusement of others. This better not end up on YouTube.

You asked specifically why I believe “wrong side of probability/fate” was the cause of the accident, and not gross negligence or incompetence. That is hard to explain, but I’ll do my best. Since that Saturday I can see how actions are connected. Every action produces something like probability string art that I can follow. You’ll have to trust me, there was no decision that I could have made that day that would have led to a substantially different outcome. All the strings led to this place. I was the good person due for a bad thing to happen to him.

Sam Pilikia
Lift Operator