I used to work in a sheet music warehouse and yes, the gig was just as bad as it sounds despite the "free" books and other fringe benefits. But the only thing we used to discover when we got to the bottom of a crate was usually fast food trash or granny porn sent by the displaced workers at the other warehouse.
Imagine the look of surprise -- not to mention the wave of nausea -- when Hungarian construction workers moved the barrel of rum they'd drunk dry only to discover the pickled corpse of a man shipped back from Jamaica two decades ago.
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