Fatty claims he can do anything I can. Quickie for you today, FPH: So I'm at my main job (if you're looking for an update to this incident, don't worry, it's coming... I'm just waiting on some details and confirmation from the RM.  Spoiler: I think the new RM is a shitlord), throwing boxes on the belt.  There's an adipose overdose working beside me.  I'm doing about five boxes to his one.  Big fucking surprise there. Anyway, out of the blue, this mayo rancher decides to say to me "You know Tuna, I'll bet that I could do anything you can".  Now, Mr. used-to-play-football-in-highschool has talked to me about fitness before.  I've always been terse with him, but never curt, so I assume that fatty thought I'd be pleased in being engaged in conversation.  My mistake, I suppose. "Oh can you?", I say, while pointing at the industrial scale near the entrance, "Then step on that, and have the first number be a one." Not surprisingly, the rest of my shift was full of silence and efficiency.  Especially after fatty left to work at another belt.