The Job

You cant smoke back here. It was my boss. No one ever comes back here, man, except you, and you only come back here to see if Im smoking. I took a load of dishes out of the machine, set it on the rack, and loaded up another one. If you just stop coming back here to check on me and assume everythings fine then we can both be happy. See, the bus boys slid their tubs of dirty dishes through a hole in the wall with a rack running through it, feeding the tubs to me. I slid empty tubs back through another slot and trays of clean dishes out through a third. No one but me ever had to come back here, and I tended to think of the space as mine. Its a health code violation. You have to go out back on your break. He just stood there with his hands on his hips waiting for me to put it out. I took another drag before throwing it to the ground. No need to step on it, the floor was soaking wet. All right, he said, triumphantly, if I catch you smoking again youre fired. Whatever. I said, b ut the water drowned the sound out as I began to rinse off more dirty dishes. As soon as hed walked out, I lit another cigarette.

Of course I was fired before my shift was over that very night. I didnt mind so much. Itd been three weeks, the longest Id kept a job in at least a year. Anyway, I didnt mind so much except for the food. Id always managed to eat two big meals during my shifts, taking care of me for the day. As you can imagine, I didnt make a lot of money at a job like that, and what little I did have left over after bills I mostly saved for when I was looking for another job or I spent it on booze, so free meals were quite a bonus. Of course I was stealing them, and if Id have been caught theyd have fired me, but I guess I didnt care too much about that. Actually, I stole a lot from that place. Plates, silverware, glasses, napkins, pretty much everything that wasnt nailed down. I didnt care too much; they had shitty, low paying jobs in jail, too. The food wa snt as good and I couldnt smoke or drink, so I tried to avoid it if I could. Really, I think, if theyd let me smoke and drink in jail, I wouldnt mind so much. You know, go for a score and if I get it Im set, and if I dont I get a year or twos vacation. No big deal. When I get out my parole officer sets me up with another shitty job and I can start it all over again. Just look out for my sweet virgin ass for a while.

Anyway, I was out on the street later that night, walking around with some money in my pocket since the boss had paid me what he still owed me in cash because he was afraid Id come back and steal everything. Maybe he wasnt so stupid after all. It was too late at night for the bus. I didnt really mind walking usually, but my left boot had a cracked sole and my sock was soaking wet from washing all those dishes. The wet foot wasnt so bad either, really, but I hated the squishing and squeaking sound that it made when I walked. Oh well, the old soppy sock. Peop le could hear me coming, too. I felt like a cow with a bell. Maybe I could get that pretty girl across the street to milk me. I laughed out loud at this as I walked along. They probably all thought I was crazy. I probably looked homeless too, so it wasnt that much of a stretch.

www.thesometimes.com

Bio: William Bill Traponski (a.k.a. The Pole, Big Willie Diesel, The Jerk)

Bill was born in Pittsburgh in 1983 and, in his own words, got the hell out of that steel cage as quick as my tiny feet would take me (Bill, despite his 6'1 body, has tiny hands and feet). Bill's family had worked in the steel industry since arriving in the U.S. some hundred years ago. Bill's father was laid off in the late seventies and was unable to find work until he died in 1986. He cursed the industry until the end and made Bill swear that he would never throw his life away on a company that would never care about him. Bill hit the road at fifteen and never looked back. He has never h ad what most people would consider a real job.

I first met Bill in San Francisco two years ago at an open mike poetry night in a coffee house. He was being arrested for exposing himself on stage (in reality, he was actually masturbating, and, it being San Francisco, they waited to arrest him until he had come). Since then, I have kept in touch with him via the Internet and he has conti

Author:: Ashton Brown
Keywords:: fiction short story hate job
Post by History of the Computer | Computer safety tips