Monday, July 28, 2014

Working Man II

Angelo hurts his balls by picking up the shipping crates in the shipping office. That's why they hired me. Nobody spoke English at the bakery.
How come you have all them fucking books?
I'm a writer.
What kind of a job is that Jack? That aint no job.
The bread orders came in all night long and I answered the phone. The Italians came in and argued with flour all over their arms and cheeks. They screamed and cursed then went back to work. About two AM the bread orders died and I could start  reading. I started with Fitzgerald, then Hemingway, then Kerouac. The bread fell off the conveyors all night with a steady plop.
About the third week a big Polish guy came in and started yelling at another Polish guy.
You are a stinking drunk. What kind of man would do what you do?
The other Polish guy had his head down and Big John kept on him
You are a disgrace to the family. You are going to lose your job.
The drunk Polish guy kept his head down on the shipping desk. The Italians came in and shook their heads and swore.
Big John lowered the boom
Go home. I'm done with you .
The drunk Polish guy staggered out and I never saw him again.
Angelo's balls healed up and they canned me just before Christmas.


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