The conveyor belt rolled, bumping me around. Everything around me was a blur of moving boxes and flickering overhead lights, always in motion. But I wasn’t worried. Trucks and highways, all part of the process. No one here really knew where they were going or what their purpose was, but I’d say that uncertainty was the best part… but little did I know that same uncertainty would take me on countless journeys across the ‘world’. 

As far as packages go, I’ve seen it all: the dust roads of Texas, Kansas’s golden fields, Colorado’s towering mountains, and the misty gray streets of Oregon. Once destined to spend an eternity in the hands of humans, bound for a single home, a singular purpose. I remember the day I was first misplaced. A distracted worker, with his mind clearly somewhere else, placed me on the wrong shelf, where I was quickly buried beneath others like me. Days turned to weeks, and the hum of the warehouse became my only companion, a never-ending sound of beeping scanners and rolling carts.

Then came the first great movement. The excitement, if you could call it that, was brief but great. I felt myself being scooped up. The hands were frantic, scanning me like I was a ticket to somewhere grand. And just like that, I found myself being transported to a different distribution center in Kansas. I picked up a few battle scars. No big deal.

I was never one for responsibilities. Some packages take their jobs seriously—get from Point A to Point B, safe and sound, pristine corners, not a dent in sight. Not me. I’m more of a “go with the flow” kind of guy. I mean, what’s the rush? 

I was tossed onto another truck heading south and ended up in Texas. The air smelled of asphalt and diesel, and the sun was so hot that it turned the cargo hold into an oven. It got so hot that my barcode melted a bit, and the ink smudged. Then I lost my label. Not my fault—it wasn’t stuck on right. That’s when things got fun. No one knew where I was supposed to go, so I just drifted. Spent a little time at a post office, a brief stay in a returns bin, and then a nice vacation in a lost package warehouse somewhere in New Mexico.

I’ve seen more of the world than most boxes. The corners of my box are dented, and my tape is tearing. Someone’s probably tracking me, wondering where I went, but maybe I’ll turn up, maybe I won’t. Either way, I’m enjoying the ride.