Friday, January 14, 2005
IN THE PRIVATE SECTOR
I had a new job. I was to be a driver/messenger for a bank.
They called me up: "You start on Monday. Report to Mister Lucker in Human Resources."
"OK," I said.
I was sitting on a chair in front of a desk, waiting.
The nameplate on the desk said: Horace Lucker, Sr. I remembered a Horace Lucker, Jr. from high school. An unpopular boy with an unfortunate name. I was about to meet his father. I hoped Horace Jr. hadn't mentioned my name to Horace Sr.
"Go to the mailroom," Mr. Lucker said. "There's a separate entrance around back."
"I thought I was hired as a messenger," I said.
"When you're not driving, you sort mail," Mr. Lucker said. "That's what it is."
"OK," I said. As always, I really needed a job.
"Report to Del, he's in the office next to the mailroom," Mr Lucker said. "Just do what he tells you, and don't listen to those other clowns down there."
"OK," I said.
I walked around the back of the building. I passed a loading dock. There was a small, nervous looking man standing there, smoking.
I went up some steps and into the building. I found Del.
"Go out there and ask Archie or Jim what to do," Del said. "They'll fill you in."
"OK," I said.
Del went back to his newspaper and coffee.
I went into the mailroom. "I'm looking for Archie," I said.
A very old man, no more than five feet tall, appeared from behind a big sorting machine.
"You're the new one," he said.
"I am," I agreed.
"I'll be supervising you then," he said. "Come on, we've got lots of mail to deliver, all through the building."
"Oh no, Archie." This from a big gangly fellow with a droopy mustache and thick glasses.
"I'm the supervisor; he's with me, don't you know," Archie said.
"No, no, Archie. He has to learn how to sort the mail first."
The gangly fellow pointed to a gigantic bin of mail and to a wall of pigeonholes.
"Jim, you're a dickhead. This guy is a driver. We need a driver, not another sorter." From a young preppy/frat looking guy at a corner desk.
"I'm Scott," he said. "You can ride with me until you learn the routes."
"OK," I said.
"Let's go," Scott said. "I want to get the car with the cruise control."
On the way to the parking lot we passed two mean looking black guys who were leaning up against the side of the building.
"That's Veldon and Charlie," Scott said. "They're OK. They're drivers too. They stay outside until the last minute so they don't have to help sort the mail. Jim's supposed to be in charge, but he's afraid to make them help. He thinks they'll kick his ass."
"Would they?" I asked.
"Only if he tried to make them work," Scott said. "Otherwise, probably not."
"Who was that guy just standing in the corner, muttering?" I asked.
"That's Bill," Scott said. "He's fucked up. Even worse than Jim."
"Is that why he was wearing the engineer's outfit?" I asked.
"I guess," Scott said. "He wears it every day, all filthy too."
Scott pulled onto the interstate, rammed the car up to 70, turned on the cruise control, and started fumbling in his cigarette pack. He finally extricated a big joint.
"Want a hit?" he asked as he lit up.
"No thanks," I said.
"So, you're straight?" Scott asked.
"I refuse to categorize myself so early in our relationship," I said.
Scott gave me a sideways look.
"You can make jokes with me," he said, "but don't try any of that shit when you go out with Veldon."
"Why is that?" I asked.
"Veldon hates fags worse than narcs," Scott said. "He'll fuck you up, seriously, if he thinks you're one or the other."
"Thanks for the warning," I said.
"I'm not joking," Scott said. "Veldon was in the Army, in a special squad. He's a trained killer."
"I get it," I said.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It took over an hour to get to the South Branch and make our pickup and delivery. Then we were back in the car.
"This bank doesn't have many branches," Scott said. "But they're all over. You only have to make like two runs and it takes up the whole day. And on the way you can get high, eat, drink, whatever you want. It's a great job."
"I guess it is," I said.
"Did you see the customer service girl, with the long hair and the nice tits?" Scott asked.
"Yes, I did," I said.
"I fucked her," Scott said. "Last Halloween."
"Good for you," I said.
"Did you see that big guy, with the crewcut and the white socks, in the corner office?" Scott asked.
"I saw him," I said.
"He played pro football, maybe in the 60's or 70's," Stan said. "But he got all injured, so he had to become a banker. He's a real nice guy."
"I bet," I said.
We sped back up the interstate.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I went to a pizza place for lunch, by myself. When I pulled back into the bank parking lot, I saw Scott, Veldon, and Charlie, sitting in a beat up Camaro. The inside of the car was thick with smoke.
Scott got out and called me over.
"You're doing the afternoon run with Veldon," he said. "I have to go up north."
"OK," I said.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
We were in a Ford Escort, with no cruise control. Veldon gripped the steering wheel as if he were wrestling a small, vicious animal. Eventually, the beast subdued, Velson relaxed and pulled out a joint. He took a hit and attempted to pass it to me.
"No thanks," I said.
"Scott told me you were straight," Veldon said.
"Scott told me you were a trained psychotic killer," I said.
Veldon laughed out loud.
"I was in the Army for a while. In the Rangers. But I got out when things started getting heavy. Know what I mean?"
"Sure," I said. I had no idea what he was talking about.
Veldon nodded and turned his attention back to the road.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
We made our delivery at South Branch and got back in the car.
"See that bitch sitting at the front desk?" Veldon asked.
"I saw her," I said.
"Scott said he fucked that bitch."
"I know," I said.
"You think he fucked her?" Veldon asked.
"I don't know," I said.
"Scott's full of shit. No way she gonna let Scott fuck her. I don't believe that shit for a minute."
"Oh," I said.
Veldon narrowed his eyes. "Would you fuck her?" he asked.
"Yes, I would," I said.
"So, you're not a fag, then," Veldon said.
"No, I'm not," I replied.
"Good," Veldon said. "I don't like riding around with fags."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
We got back around 4. Mr. Lucker was waiting in the mailroom.
"I've got some news," he said. "Del is leaving us." He pointed to Del's empty office.
Apparently Del had already left.
Then he pointed to a robust looking gentleman standing in the corner of the room.
"Effective, tomorrow morning, Mr. Frank T is the new supervisor."
Mr. Frank T gave a wave. "Glad to be on board," he said. "I'm looking forward to running this ship."
"And one more thing," Mr Lucker said. "We got a call from Bob, his car broke down at Central Branch. We'll need someone to go pick him up. Time and a half."
Mr. Lucker and Mr. McT left.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"I'll go," I said, "if someone gives me directions."
"You're not going," Scott said. "You don't want to ride all the way back with the nutcase Bob."
Scott looked around. "You go, Jim," he said to the gangly guy.
"I don't have to drive anymore," Jim said. "Del put me in charge of the mailroom."
Veldon cleared his throat and looked at Jim. Jim hung his head.
"I'll go," Jim said. "But just because I need the money."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"There's a bar right down the road," Scott said. "They have half price drinks till six. We usually go over there and get fucked up after work. Are you in?"
"OK," I said.
It felt good to be back in the workforce.
I had a new job. I was to be a driver/messenger for a bank.
They called me up: "You start on Monday. Report to Mister Lucker in Human Resources."
"OK," I said.
I was sitting on a chair in front of a desk, waiting.
The nameplate on the desk said: Horace Lucker, Sr. I remembered a Horace Lucker, Jr. from high school. An unpopular boy with an unfortunate name. I was about to meet his father. I hoped Horace Jr. hadn't mentioned my name to Horace Sr.
"Go to the mailroom," Mr. Lucker said. "There's a separate entrance around back."
"I thought I was hired as a messenger," I said.
"When you're not driving, you sort mail," Mr. Lucker said. "That's what it is."
"OK," I said. As always, I really needed a job.
"Report to Del, he's in the office next to the mailroom," Mr Lucker said. "Just do what he tells you, and don't listen to those other clowns down there."
"OK," I said.
I walked around the back of the building. I passed a loading dock. There was a small, nervous looking man standing there, smoking.
I went up some steps and into the building. I found Del.
"Go out there and ask Archie or Jim what to do," Del said. "They'll fill you in."
"OK," I said.
Del went back to his newspaper and coffee.
I went into the mailroom. "I'm looking for Archie," I said.
A very old man, no more than five feet tall, appeared from behind a big sorting machine.
"You're the new one," he said.
"I am," I agreed.
"I'll be supervising you then," he said. "Come on, we've got lots of mail to deliver, all through the building."
"Oh no, Archie." This from a big gangly fellow with a droopy mustache and thick glasses.
"I'm the supervisor; he's with me, don't you know," Archie said.
"No, no, Archie. He has to learn how to sort the mail first."
The gangly fellow pointed to a gigantic bin of mail and to a wall of pigeonholes.
"Jim, you're a dickhead. This guy is a driver. We need a driver, not another sorter." From a young preppy/frat looking guy at a corner desk.
"I'm Scott," he said. "You can ride with me until you learn the routes."
"OK," I said.
"Let's go," Scott said. "I want to get the car with the cruise control."
On the way to the parking lot we passed two mean looking black guys who were leaning up against the side of the building.
"That's Veldon and Charlie," Scott said. "They're OK. They're drivers too. They stay outside until the last minute so they don't have to help sort the mail. Jim's supposed to be in charge, but he's afraid to make them help. He thinks they'll kick his ass."
"Would they?" I asked.
"Only if he tried to make them work," Scott said. "Otherwise, probably not."
"Who was that guy just standing in the corner, muttering?" I asked.
"That's Bill," Scott said. "He's fucked up. Even worse than Jim."
"Is that why he was wearing the engineer's outfit?" I asked.
"I guess," Scott said. "He wears it every day, all filthy too."
Scott pulled onto the interstate, rammed the car up to 70, turned on the cruise control, and started fumbling in his cigarette pack. He finally extricated a big joint.
"Want a hit?" he asked as he lit up.
"No thanks," I said.
"So, you're straight?" Scott asked.
"I refuse to categorize myself so early in our relationship," I said.
Scott gave me a sideways look.
"You can make jokes with me," he said, "but don't try any of that shit when you go out with Veldon."
"Why is that?" I asked.
"Veldon hates fags worse than narcs," Scott said. "He'll fuck you up, seriously, if he thinks you're one or the other."
"Thanks for the warning," I said.
"I'm not joking," Scott said. "Veldon was in the Army, in a special squad. He's a trained killer."
"I get it," I said.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It took over an hour to get to the South Branch and make our pickup and delivery. Then we were back in the car.
"This bank doesn't have many branches," Scott said. "But they're all over. You only have to make like two runs and it takes up the whole day. And on the way you can get high, eat, drink, whatever you want. It's a great job."
"I guess it is," I said.
"Did you see the customer service girl, with the long hair and the nice tits?" Scott asked.
"Yes, I did," I said.
"I fucked her," Scott said. "Last Halloween."
"Good for you," I said.
"Did you see that big guy, with the crewcut and the white socks, in the corner office?" Scott asked.
"I saw him," I said.
"He played pro football, maybe in the 60's or 70's," Stan said. "But he got all injured, so he had to become a banker. He's a real nice guy."
"I bet," I said.
We sped back up the interstate.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I went to a pizza place for lunch, by myself. When I pulled back into the bank parking lot, I saw Scott, Veldon, and Charlie, sitting in a beat up Camaro. The inside of the car was thick with smoke.
Scott got out and called me over.
"You're doing the afternoon run with Veldon," he said. "I have to go up north."
"OK," I said.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
We were in a Ford Escort, with no cruise control. Veldon gripped the steering wheel as if he were wrestling a small, vicious animal. Eventually, the beast subdued, Velson relaxed and pulled out a joint. He took a hit and attempted to pass it to me.
"No thanks," I said.
"Scott told me you were straight," Veldon said.
"Scott told me you were a trained psychotic killer," I said.
Veldon laughed out loud.
"I was in the Army for a while. In the Rangers. But I got out when things started getting heavy. Know what I mean?"
"Sure," I said. I had no idea what he was talking about.
Veldon nodded and turned his attention back to the road.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
We made our delivery at South Branch and got back in the car.
"See that bitch sitting at the front desk?" Veldon asked.
"I saw her," I said.
"Scott said he fucked that bitch."
"I know," I said.
"You think he fucked her?" Veldon asked.
"I don't know," I said.
"Scott's full of shit. No way she gonna let Scott fuck her. I don't believe that shit for a minute."
"Oh," I said.
Veldon narrowed his eyes. "Would you fuck her?" he asked.
"Yes, I would," I said.
"So, you're not a fag, then," Veldon said.
"No, I'm not," I replied.
"Good," Veldon said. "I don't like riding around with fags."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
We got back around 4. Mr. Lucker was waiting in the mailroom.
"I've got some news," he said. "Del is leaving us." He pointed to Del's empty office.
Apparently Del had already left.
Then he pointed to a robust looking gentleman standing in the corner of the room.
"Effective, tomorrow morning, Mr. Frank T is the new supervisor."
Mr. Frank T gave a wave. "Glad to be on board," he said. "I'm looking forward to running this ship."
"And one more thing," Mr Lucker said. "We got a call from Bob, his car broke down at Central Branch. We'll need someone to go pick him up. Time and a half."
Mr. Lucker and Mr. McT left.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"I'll go," I said, "if someone gives me directions."
"You're not going," Scott said. "You don't want to ride all the way back with the nutcase Bob."
Scott looked around. "You go, Jim," he said to the gangly guy.
"I don't have to drive anymore," Jim said. "Del put me in charge of the mailroom."
Veldon cleared his throat and looked at Jim. Jim hung his head.
"I'll go," Jim said. "But just because I need the money."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"There's a bar right down the road," Scott said. "They have half price drinks till six. We usually go over there and get fucked up after work. Are you in?"
"OK," I said.
It felt good to be back in the workforce.
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