A Couple of Hours in the Life

I have always enjoyed writing so this seems a good place to let down my hair, write, and see if it has value. This is the first time I have "Published" anything that was anything close to a narrative or short story purely for the sake of writing. It was a lot of work and I found myself reworking the piece over and over again--this was a good experience for me and I hope it is of some little value to those participating in this Forum.

It is important that I receive constructive criticism. I still have some problems with the word craft and any suggestions you might have are welcome. Well, here goes.

JM

A COUPLE OF HOURS IN THE LIFE

I closed the window of my second floor room and slowly walked downstairs where I was surrounded by the thick stale air that inevitably results from those infamous gatherings known as frat parties. A slight hangover, a faint memory of intimate relations and the requisite lack of sleep rounded out the experience of the moment. Just a few hours before I had received word from the college that I need not bother return to classes in the fall-- my parents would be devastated.

Seems the school had these "academic standards" that simply must be upheld. ****! I felt lousy but I could not for the life of me pinpoint exactly why. It wasn't the residual booze or the bad news, it seemed deeper. There seemed something more sinister involved. This "something" had now been set in motion and would come back and bite me in the ass when I least expected it. It was like that Greek guy with the sword hanging over his head. I think he was Greek…whatever. This ill feeling came from my gut but the beauty and warmth of this late spring day only made me feel worse. You know the kind. It was one of those that snidely suggested a "new beginning" with its newly found warmth. That warmth now came directly from a Sun so positioned in the sky that it was no longer an irritant to the un-shaded eye rather than from the surrounding hot air, concrete, and asphalt of high summer. I thought of strapping my board on the car and taking the 2 hour trip to catch some waves but I knew this source of therapy was unavailable. The Nor'easter had passed the coast and headed out to sea a full two days ago and the resulting off shore winds would have blown it flat by now. Just my freak' in luck, I couldn't even attempt to drown my emotions within the fluidity of physical exertion. Then there was the little matter of that damn boot on one of my front wheels.

So I followed in the tradition of my working class ancestors and headed off to work. What else was there? At least I had some value there and at the end of the week something to show for it. Took the short trolley ride to Market Street where I caught the NJ Transit bus to Camden. Didn't Ben Franklin once have a house on Market Street? I read that somewhere. Ahhh…public transportation, a great concept as long as you didn't actually have to use it. This was like being thrown into the "General Population" of society. But this transportation mode did have one little treat. Traveling out of center city at rush hour meant the abundance of very special travel companions: painted women; young, single, and all looking and smelling delicious. Pure instinct raised a young man's hope, after all what better target rich environment could one hope for? However, wishful thought quickly succumbed to reasoning. After all, why would a good looking sober woman want to date a guy riding a bus? Yeh, frustration seemed par for the course today, only this bus thing was more a case of water, water everywhere and not a drop to drink.

South Camden… many who knew it called it the armpit of the world; to me it was merely my stop. I got off the bus and managed the short walk to the store without incident. Headed up to the break room to find something cheap to eat and sat down to enjoy the company of some of my fellow employees. I still had a few minutes before I had to punch in. So, I sat there, the atmosphere slowly seeping into me while I pretended to enjoy the stale Clark bar from the vending machine. Seemed I wasn't the only thing the atmosphere had seeped into. The other machine had one chicken salad sandwich left but I wasn't yet feeling that suicidal. Made small talk with Madge and Elmer while Babs characteristically declined to join in.

Babs was what some might call stuck-up. She was a sophomore at St Joe's and reminded me of those characters one sees in movies about the well-to-do, the young WASPy blond with fine facial features and just barely enough bumps and correctly placed flesh so she would not be mistaken for a boy. I suppose the clothes helped too, although I had seen these used to opposite effect in some all night theaters, but that is a story unto itself. She said little to and socialized even less with us riff raff. This was for our own good. After all, if one of the untouchables thought he had a chance with her he would soon find disappointment staring him in the face. So, she actually was preventing a small amount of human suffering and that's a good thing, right? Call it sour grapes, but I personally preferred the Italian girls; substantial females whose physical appearance would never serve to deceive as to their sex, were generally friendlier, talkative, and self assured. These Mediterranean angels seemed less concerned about causing human suffering and, indeed, actively behaved to promote human pleasure: they were good cooks and great conversationalists… among other things.

Madge, the cashier, was an older woman of about forty or so who had three grown kids. She had recently been widowed but her pipe fitter husband and she had managed to put their two daughters through college. She was rightly proud of this fact but almost never mentioned her eldest, the son. I sensed pursuing info about him would come to no good end and declined to cause her any angst by doing so. Us riff raff must stick together.

Elmer was in his late 30's and was frightening. This fear stemmed not from Elmer's potential actions but from what life had done to him and, in turn, its plan for me. I didn't wish to share Elmer's lot. He looked old for his age. Many said the cigarettes and booze were the cause and in that there was some truth, but some people always look old and I think Elmer's appearance resulted more from the fateful latter then the two former voluntary indulgences. But his appearance was not my main concern.

Elmer was the store janitor and more. He cleaned up messes. Real messes like spills, broken glass, and the occasional vomiting, urine, and feces that emanated not only from little kids but from shoplifters suddenly confronted by store security. The "more" part would, today, be "out-sourced". Every Saturday night it was his job to strip, clean, and wax the floors of the entire store. This was obviously his shining moment or at least he thought so. Self perception is a powerful thing; however, it too often slips easily into self deception. So, each Saturday he was given two assistants to help get the job done. Not only did he now have a respected job that seldom involved those foul products of human existence, but he also had power. This power involved not only his two flunkies but also extended to the manager of the night crew and, by way of the chain of command, the entire crew. The manager of the night crew was also the store Grocery Manager, a position secondary only to the Store Manager in the food store hierarchy.

Now this was quite heady stuff for Elmer and he reveled in the fact he could effectively influence all of us on that crew because certain areas had to be cleaned first and those areas had to be stocked and finished by a certain time, thus making his directives legitimate. Later, Elmer became the butt of one of life's cruel jokes when the store fired him and hired a private concern to clean the floors. It all ended well though. Elmer was hired by the private concern to be one of the flunkies doing the actual work. I was always told an "education" makes this cruel twist less likely to come about, but even if true, I no longer could take comfort given recent events involving my academic pursuits, or lack thereof.

"How's school Joe?" Madge asked.
"It's still there." I replied. I wasn't in the mood to try to elicit cheap pity with my latest academic news and besides this question was designed to steer the conversation towards Madge's interests not mine.
"What'cha Tak'n up?" Elmer inserted.
"Chemistry" I said quickly. Nice move Elmer! He had temporarily saved me from an ego bruising diatribe of Madge's daughters' successes, but we both knew this was probably only a temporary reprieve.
"Chemistry! Hmmm…" You could almost hear those nicotine clogged wheels of Elmer's squeaking into motion.
"Why Hell! Some day you can make your own drugs and become a millionaire!"

This statement, of course, could be interpreted in two different ways. Its meaning depended upon Elmer's intent as to whether I pursued this drug manufacturing business inside or outside the bounds of the Law. I knew eggheads in school that would have immediately launched into an explanation of the trials and tribulations of both avenues of pursuit. I choose to follow a wise man's advice and remain silent. I'd like to think my silence stemmed from nobility or my skill in conversation but in reality I was just too damned tired to bother.

"Just like Madge here's son" blurted Elmer. Well, since this was more information then I had garnered from Madge in the last two years on the subject, my ears perked up but I sensed a tension building in the room and suspected this probably wasn't going in a good direction.
"Right Madge?" asked Elmer.
Apparently, Elmer was attempting something akin to social bungee jumping but, knowing Elmer, he had not thoroughly checked as to whether the cord's attachment to his ankles was entirely secure. As for me, some sort of teleportation ability would have been handy at this point.

For her part, Madge took this like the trooper she was, mumbled some similarity between Elmer and the terminating end of a mammalian alimentary tract, and slowly got up and went to punch in…so much for riff raff solidarity.

"Want the straight poop on Bobby?" Elmer asked me.
"Jesus! Look at that, Gott'a go punch in, I'm late. Maybe later Elmer." was my not so graceful reply.
"Yeh, time for me to hit the road, I'm done for the day" said Elmer with that slight smirk meant to demonstrate his temporary better position in life over me, a college boy.
"I'll walk down with you" he said. He was true to his word.
I watched him walk out of the store with that south Camden strut of his but this gait was more fitting of a cocky young man thinking he had the world on a string and looked silly on a middle age janitor knowing full well his place in the world. He would be OK, though. In a few hours he'd be hammered and well ensconced in his little make believe world dreaming of the next Saturday night's floor maintaining adventures.

Just as Elmer disappeared the Front End Manager announced over the PA system: "All available store personnel up front to bag". This is demeaning to us "Grocery Guys", but then Surgeons sometimes have to empty out impacted bowels, so I guess we all have our problems. I used this opportunity to go bag for Madge. We shot the **** for a while being careful not to mention the break room fiasco. This was a way of commiserating with her without actually speaking of it which would only be a source of more hurt for her. This was the first conversation we ever had that did not involve the subject of her daughters.

About 30 minutes into my shift my boss, Greg, paged me to the back room. As the Grocery Manager he essentially ran most of the store and was the guy to get in good with if one wanted to advance to better positions. Although each department such as Health and Beauty Aides, Produce, and Dairy had their own managers, Greg had a lot to say about who would migrate where from the grocery department. I had put in for Frozen Foods. Technically this was still in the grocery department but was cleaner, cooler work. From unloading the delivery to stocking the aisle it was always cool enough to actually wear a coat, no matter what the season. Unloading the grocery trailers in the summer always involved sweat. Not that I had any aversion to hard physical labor, it was just that we were required to wear shirts and ties and I detested the combination of professional attire and sweaty labor. It seemed to me it should be one or the other, but I was young so what did I know?

I had filled in for the Frozen Food part-timer for a few weeks and let Greg know if the slot opened up I'd be interested.
"Joe, the PT slot in Frozen's yours if you want it." Greg told me as I walked into his cubby hole. Greg wasn't big on small talk.
"Kevin's quitt'n?" says I.
"Kevin's graduating from the U of P and wants to take a vacation and hike around Europe before starting Veterinarian school in the fall"
"****! Vacation from what?" Perhaps if I had devoted more time to my studies I might have had more insight into Kevin's reasoning on this. Even though we were both "college kids" we never really talked much. He went to an Ivy League school and was 2 years ahead…an old man to me. So this was all news to me.
"Yeh, tell me about it." Greg agreed.
"So, I'll have to give up the slot when Kev comes back?"
"Get real, Joe. He ain't com'in back. And even if he did, I am not going to bump you back as long as you're work' in out in the job. ?'sides, you've got at least 2 more years before you graduate and do the Kevin thing too" Two years at least, I thought.
"Well, I'd probably still work here even after I graduate… at least part time." I said weakly. Why was I clinging to this dreamy fallacy?
"Joe, that's bullshit and you know it. Odds are you'll take off like the rest. Hell, I would. Did your parents send you to…where the hell do you go to school?"
"Philadelphia College of Pharmacy and Science".
"Yeh, that's it. Your Mom and Dad sweated, slaved, and saved so you would have the golden opportunity to work part time in the Frozen Food section of Pathmark, right?" Apparently, the closely guarded secret of my designs was out.
"Look Greg, I was just…"
"You should be loyal to yourself first, every one else is secondary. It's the way of the world. Go to school get your sheepskin and move on, end of story. When you leave we'll find somebody else to do the job here. Sorry, but you're not that special. With a degree you become a little less ordinary and that's what your parents have in mind."

It seemed the sword above me just moved. Perhaps it was the light bulb that just appeared above my head that jostled it. It wasn't exactly a new day but something was dawning on me. These were the same vintage thoughts expressed by my parents ad nauseum, so why were they so much more convincing coming from my Boss?
"Listen, I don't have time for this crap, Joe. What's Bobby gotcha doing tonight?"
"He wants me to get an early start on the price changes"
"Fine, go do it and congrats on your freak' in advancement to Frozen Foods, you start tomorrow with the Saturday night crew."
Apparently Greg assumed I accepted the new position. He was right. Nine PM came and I squeaked out the door just before the front end manager locked them, took the bus to my parents. It occurred to me that we seemed to have a hell of a lot of "Managers". This reminded me of what my Dad used to refer to as "Too many Chiefs and not enough Indians".

(To be continued ?)