Days passed in the warehouse's noisy rhythm and repetitive physical labor. Van was like a rough stone, ground down by the construction site's abrasive wheel. He gradually adapted to the warehouse pace and deciphered Foreman Hùng's volatile temper.
Hùng was indeed foul-tempered, quick to shout, obsessively demanding about details. But his anger wasn't entirely baseless. Warehouse management seemed simple but was intricate and high-stakes. With countless material types, complex specs, any slip in receiving or dispatching could delay projects or cause financial loss. Hùng bore pressure too – cost scrutiny from Kim Hải above, constant demands from sites below.
Van remembered Mr. Chen's emphasis on "learning ability" and knew this was his only chance. He forced himself to absorb everything like a sponge.
He shadowed Minh, memorizing building material names, spec codes (DN, PPR, Φ, L-type, U-type...), common units (meters, tons, pieces, bundles). He watched Minh count goods, swiftly check delivery notes, locate items on crowded shelves, communicate with drivers and site storekeepers. He volunteered for the dirtiest, heaviest tasks – climbing shelves to organize, squeezing into corners to clear dusty stock, hauling cement and rebar. Skin on his shoulders and arms toughened into calluses, no longer burning raw, just a constant ache.
He stopped flinching at the "motorbike boy" taunts. Faced with provocation, he stayed silent, focusing on his work. Gradually, the jeers subsided. The burly worker who'd mocked him once slipped while moving a bundle of rebar, nearly crushing himself; Van lunged forward and helped steady it. Though the man just grunted without thanks, the hostility in his eyes lessened.
Minh became his only friend in the warehouse. Minh was gentle, almost timid, often cowed by Hùng's shouts. Van's steady, hardworking nature offered him comfort. Van appreciated Minh's patient guidance. Their teamwork improved.
Beneath the surface calm, however, currents swirled. Van began noticing problems in the warehouse management.
First, the ledgers were chaotic. Hùng focused only on physical stock, neglecting paperwork. Minh's in-out records were scrawled, often amended, with frequent date and document number errors. Many slips weren't filed, just dumped in drawers. When Van once tried organizing them, Hùng snapped, "Got time for that? Better move two more sacks of cement!"
Second, inventory was unclear. Shelves were roughly categorized, but materials of the same type from different batches were mixed. Corners held piles of obsolete "dead stock," wasting space. Hùng seemed indifferent, as long as site requests were filled promptly.
Most unsettling were the minor discrepancies Van found during counts. Sometimes an extra item or two, sometimes short. Minh shrugged it off as "normal loss or error." Van recalled Mr. Chen's "details determine success" and felt uneasy, but powerless to act.
One sweltering afternoon, heavy clouds threatened a downpour. The warehouse was stifling, air thick. Hùng was called to a meeting with Kim Hải. Only Van, Minh, and two workers sorting new tiles remained.
"Van, count this batch of DN40 galvanized pipes. Site needs twenty urgently," Minh wiped sweat, pointing to a small stack.
"Okay." Van squatted, counting carefully: "1, 2, 3… 18, 19, 20. Minh, exactly twenty."
"Good. I'll write the pick list. You'll ride along later." Minh headed to the small desk.
Just then, a site technician rushed in, sweating profusely. "Minh! Quick! Any DN40 galvanized pipe? Site needs five for temporary bracing! Urgent!"
Minh didn't look up. "Yeah, yeah! Over there! Just counted twenty! Van, grab five for Tech Wang!"
Van moved towards the pipes. Instinctively, he counted again: "1, 2, 3… 18, 19?" He paused, crouching lower. Nineteen! He'd just counted twenty!
"Minh! Wrong! One pipe's missing!" Van called out immediately.
"What?" Minh looked up, disbelief on his face. "No way! We just counted!"
"Really! Only nineteen!" Van insisted.
Minh rushed over, counted himself, face paling. "19... really gone! Damn it! Site's waiting! Hùng'll skin me alive!" He panicked. "What... what do we do? Where do we find a DN40 pipe now? That's the only stack!"
The tile sorters wandered over. One sneered, "Missing one? Big deal. Not like it's gold. Tell the site, replace it next time."
"No!" Van countered instantly. "The pick list says twenty! Sending nineteen, site signs off? They'll investigate! Responsibility is ours!" He remembered Mr. Chen's emphasis on "responsibility."
"But... but what now?" Minh paced frantically. "Where do we find a DN40 pipe? That's the only stack here!"
Van forced himself to calm down. The pipe couldn't vanish. Minutes had passed since counting and Minh writing the list. Only he, Minh, and the tile sorters were present. The sorters had been at the far end, nowhere near the pipes.
His eyes scanned the area. The pipes were stacked in an open space near some idle old machinery. He crouched, examining the damp concrete floor. Among his and Minh's footprints, there seemed... a fresh drag mark, leading from the pipe pile towards the back of the old machines!
Van's heart jumped. He followed the mark. Behind an oil-stained old lathe, he found a DN40 galvanized pipe carelessly tossed in the corner! One end was smeared with fresh dirt!
"Here!" Van called, dragging it out.
Minh and the workers ran over. Minh exhaled in relief. "Scared me to death! How'd it get here?"
One worker's eyes darted. "Oh! Forklift must've bumped it! Rolled over! No harm done!"
Van didn't reply, examining the dirt on the pipe and the drag marks behind the lathe. They were clearly man-made, the dirt fresh. He glanced at the worker, suspicion forming, but without proof, he stayed silent.
"Alright, alright, false alarm! Van, hurry! Get five pipes to Tech Wang! Don't delay the site!" Minh urged.
Van nodded, helping Minh load five pipes onto a handcart and wheel them out.
The small crisis passed. But Van couldn't relax. Why had the pipe "wandered" behind the machine? Forklift bump? Or someone trying to pocket it temporarily? The warehouse's management gaps were like dust in dark corners – seemingly insignificant, potentially hiding bigger risks.
In the afternoon, rain poured down, hammering the warehouse roof. Hùng returned from his meeting, looking grim, likely scolded by Kim Hải. He listened to Minh's report about the pipe, waving dismissively. "Fine, fine, not lost! That's it! Keep a tighter eye next time! Stop causing me grief!"
He slumped at the desk, yanked a drawer open for a file, and spilled a cascade of loose papers onto the floor. "Dammit! Is this drawer a dump? Minh! How many times? File papers properly! Deaf?"
Minh flinched, scrambling to pick them up.
Van knelt to help. Staring at the scattered, dated, scrawled slips, an idea sparked. He recalled "5S Management" and "Visual Management" from Mr. Chen's booklet – concepts about "Sort, Set in order, Shine, Standardize, Sustain," creating clean, efficient workspaces to reduce errors.
He hesitated, seeing Hùng's dark mood, but gathered courage. "Foreman... I... I have an idea. Might be stupid."
Hùng glared. "Spit it out!"
"I... see our paperwork's messy, hard to find things. Shelves too, sometimes slow to find stuff. I thought... maybe take some time, do a big cleanup? File papers by date, bind them. Put labels on everything on the shelves, name and spec, organize by zone. Wouldn't that make finding, counting faster? Less... mistakes?" Van spoke earnestly, careful not to sound accusatory.
Hùng blinked, clearly not expecting a suggestion from the quiet newcomer. He frowned, studied Van for a few seconds, glanced at the messy floor and the cluttered warehouse, and didn't immediately explode. He was silent for a moment, weighing it.
"Hmph! Easy to say! Organize? Label? Got time for that? Mr. Hải breathes down my neck on costs! Where's the time?!" Hùng snorted, but his tone lacked its usual bite. "...But... kid's got... a point." He pointed at the papers on the floor. "First, help Minh sort this junk! By month! Label it! Shelves... maybe later, after this rush! Don't slack on real work!"
"Yes! Foreman!" Van felt a surge of relief. Hùng hadn't fully agreed, but he'd given him a chance to organize the papers! It was a tiny breakthrough!
He immediately started sorting the slips with Minh. They grouped them by type – delivery notes, pick lists, receiving slips, dispatch slips – then sorted by date. Van meticulously checked unclear or incomplete slips against the ledger records, filling in gaps. He got folders and labels from Minh, carefully binding the sorted papers and labeling them clearly.
Outside, the downpour continued. Inside the dimly lit warehouse, Van and Minh knelt on the floor, focused. Sweat trickled down Van's temples, dripping onto a slip, smudging ink. He ignored it, absorbed in the task. Minh watched Van's meticulousness with a complex look – admiration mixed with self-reproach.
When the last bundle was neatly filed and labeled "July - Receiving Slips," Van exhaled deeply. Though only a partial job, though his shoulders and back screamed in protest, seeing the orderly row of folders filled him with an unprecedented sense of accomplishment.
It was perhaps a trivial thing. But for him, it was monumental. He had proactively identified a problem, proposed a solution (albeit partial), and been given a chance to implement it. He felt, truly felt, that his observation and thinking, not just his muscles, could create value in this new world.
That seed named "opportunity," watered by sweat and dust, seemed to finally crack the hard surface, sending up a faint, fragile sprout.