Labor Day 2020

Union Job

I was just a kid really,
But a union job was big-time,
You had to know someone.
I didn’t realize that at the time,
The environment was frightening,
But the money was good.
They show you the ropes in a moment
Where to punch in, what happens if you don’t
That is, punch-in or out.
They show you the break area
Picnic tables on concrete with a few vending machines
God-awful coffee, that I learned to drink to stay up the first night.
They show you the bathrooms
I still have nightmares
Having to go, and there are no non-filthy ones available.
Dude I started with got the paint line
Sounded scarier than what I got.
I worked the warehouse, loading trucks
With aluminum siding of all types
In long boxes picked from cavernous warehouse.
Put on long carts, pulled by way too fast fork lifts
Driven by crazy people that feared nothing.
The carts were backed into tractor-trailers
We unloaded as fast as we could, never fast enough.
The eye loops for the hooks on the trailers
Bruised our shins, the old guys had disfigured legs
The young guys limped until they became more nimble.
Hands dried out from the cardboard and cracked.
The dust and dark and dingy trucks had woad flooring.
They had holes sometimes. but we filled them with boxes anyway.
Lunch was a half-hour, they had it timed, perfect
Two beers and a ground-round from local bar.
Pre-ordered and consumed in heartburn inducing rapidity.
We worked the night-shift – usually about 14 to 16 hours.
Overtime pay was what everyone wanted.
I’d team up with Jimmy sometimes, he was 4 years older than me
That made him an old-man… he sang in a band on weekends.
We would sing together while picking in the warehouse
House of the rising sun… seemed oddly applicable.
I learned to smoke cheap cigars, because that’s what everyone did
Cigars or cigarettes .. but when you are loading, cigarettes slowed you down… Cigars burned the inside of your bicep when you were lifting boxes over your head.
Monster of a guy was second in state arm-wrestling.
Naturally I challenged him, my knuckles were bruised hitting the picnic table top… didn’t do that again.
You get along, or they get you out.
Two fights and you’re fired.
First fight gets you a week off without pay.
To get rid of someone, even these guys thought was dangerous
Two people picked fights with him over a few week period…
We all pitched in to pay for the week off with pay for each pugilist
I feared being asked to fight someone… I was happy to pay my share.
It was a world and a community all its own.
The pay was good, but they went on strike anyway.
The factory moved away, and I went to school and found other summer jobs… yearning for an education and a future.