I get to work at 6:50 a.m. Park my car and walk through the massive empty lot to the dock that stretches two football fields in length. As I get closer to the main office of the dock, I see workers from the night shift flying by on their forklifts, cheering that their shift is almost over. I walk up the stairs and clock in. As I wait for a forklift to become available, I'm told that I better get my shit together if I wanted to keep my job. This is my asshole supervisor. A true shit-head at heart, and a man bound and determined that I was his nemesis. I didn't care if I lost my job or not at that point. Part of me wanted to stay just to piss my supervisor off, but then I realized why I was working there in the first place, $15.75/hour. A young man that wants to make money will put up with a lot of B.S. for $15.75 an Hour.
The head foreman gives me my check sheet, a list of bills (freight) that need to be moved from one trailer to another, and tells me to get my shit together. The day is already off to a great start. Fortunately I'm assigned a trailer at the east end of the dock. In such a miserable place, this was the one part of the dock that had a view. You could clearly see the sun and the many fields and trees that were in front of it. The catch to the beautiful view, these trailers had a lot of heavy freight, sharp poles, and hazardous chemicals. That's what I get for being "young and strong," as my much older co-workers would say.
The day was long and tough as usual. Lots of lifting, stacking, sweating, checking and overlooking. At one point, I didn't know what I was going to do with all those boxes. Then I realized, I could just leave it for the other guy coming in at 3:00. My supervisor would walk to my trailer quite often to "make sure I wasn't fucking anything up." He was such a sweetheart.
After lunch I told myself that it's all downhill from here. I continue my lifting and stacking. I heard the older guys telling jokes about 10 yards away. Sitting on their forklifts and telling jokes. And to think I was the one getting yelled at. Those same guys helped me get through those tough times. They were some of the funniest people I will ever see and talk to. As funny and odd as the 3:00 a.m. regulars at Waffle House. The stories they had about the same jack ass foremen were truly great. The one about my favorite supervisor shitting his pants on a forklift was my personal favorite. You see, those men understood what I was going through because they were in my exact same position at one point. At the bottom of the pole, but they stuck with it because they had to provide for their families. And the money was pretty good too.
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I really like the last paragraph of this piece, Graham. The specificity of 3 a.m. at Waffle House works well, and I find myself wanting to know more about HOW these guys got you through the tough (though profitable:)) parts of this job. Telling the forklift story would be great!
ReplyDeleteYou also have a great start here at diction and detail that reflect the topic you're discussing. The repetition of "$15.75/hour" works well because you give your reader a version of your own experience of coming back to the pay over and over again in your head. There's a lot of profanity in here that I imagine reflects the way the men you worked with talked. Getting it into dialogue or into a kind of refrain (like "$15.75/hour") would make your use of if seem more purposeful and controlled, I think.