Tony Albion sighed as he threw the last of the pallets on the pile and brushed his hands together. He stalked out of the storeroom and headed to the break room, where he opened his locker and grabbed his bag. He slammed the locker door shut and made a beeline for the exit.
“Hey, Tony.” A male voice stopped him in his tracks and he turned.
“What is it, John? I just want to get out of here,” Tony sighed.
“Nigel called off again for tomorrow,” John said. “That’s three days now. Says he’s sick.”