Beer Cans
I knew I was in trouble when Jimmy Dale handed me a snow shovel, which isn't easy to obtain in Oklahoma, and said, "You'll need this."
I took the snow shovel from Jimmy Dale, even though I had no idea why he thought I'd need it.
So there we stood, on the loading dock, looking at each other, when Kevin walked out of the warehouse and said, "Jimmy Dale, that boy ain't got no idea what to do with that there shovel."
I nodded my head. Slowly. And said, "I'm sorry, but I don't know what you want me to do. If you tell me, I'll do it..."
"Damn, Boy!" Jimmy Dale said to me. "What kind of summer help they hire us this year. These damn college boys."
"Praise Jesus!" Kevin shouted.
Jimmy Dale just smiled, at what I would soon learn, was a normal religious outburst from Kevin who spent the day listening to some religious radio station on the AM side of the dial on his archaic (by 1988 standards mind you) transistor radio that had one ear plug that he would rotate from ear to ear throughout the day.
Jimmy Dale grabbed the snow shovel out of my hand and said, "This is what you do, boy." At which point he held the snow shovel up over his head and took off running then jumped jumping feet first, into the biggest trash hopper, which was full of aluminum cans, I've ever seen.
"Praise Jesus!" Kevin shouted, pulling the ear plug out of his right ear, and sticking it into his left ear.
After a few minor adjustments Kevin continued, "What yous got to do is this, you jump in them cans, and you take that shovel and you rake 'em to the back of that hopper. So we can put more in the front, from the loading dock. We gots to get it all full before the truck comes and takes it off and brings us an empty hopper."
And just as Kevin said, Jimmy Dale was in that huge ass hopper, sunk up to his thighs in aluminum cans, containing God knows what kind of filth, from spit cans to backwash juice, raking cans toward the back.
"It ain't hard, boy." Kevin said smiling. "You get the hang of it pretty quick. You just has to...Praise Jesus!..."
It was then that I realized Kevin was screaming Praise Jesus, not because he was crazy, but because he was testifying to whatever the preacher was preaching on his radio program.
"You just has to watch out for them leeches, is all, boy."
"Yeah," Jimmy Dale said as he crawled out of the cans using the snow shovel as a crutch. "Those little bastards get all up in them cans."
"Praise Jesus!"
"They like the sugar in them pop cans." Jimmy Dale said. "And maybe they like the beer in the beer cans? I know I do."
You'd think that being profanely berated while being exposed to macabre porn by belligerent steel workers would be the worst job you could have.
You'd be wrong.
That dubious distinction goes to Borg Steel, which doesn't make steel as the name implies. They sell scrap. And the summer I spent there, in 1988 for those playing along at home, went down as one of the most surreal working experiences I've ever had.
Until I BLOG again...I never thought that this would ever be my fate.
I took the snow shovel from Jimmy Dale, even though I had no idea why he thought I'd need it.
So there we stood, on the loading dock, looking at each other, when Kevin walked out of the warehouse and said, "Jimmy Dale, that boy ain't got no idea what to do with that there shovel."
I nodded my head. Slowly. And said, "I'm sorry, but I don't know what you want me to do. If you tell me, I'll do it..."
"Damn, Boy!" Jimmy Dale said to me. "What kind of summer help they hire us this year. These damn college boys."
"Praise Jesus!" Kevin shouted.
Jimmy Dale just smiled, at what I would soon learn, was a normal religious outburst from Kevin who spent the day listening to some religious radio station on the AM side of the dial on his archaic (by 1988 standards mind you) transistor radio that had one ear plug that he would rotate from ear to ear throughout the day.
Jimmy Dale grabbed the snow shovel out of my hand and said, "This is what you do, boy." At which point he held the snow shovel up over his head and took off running then jumped jumping feet first, into the biggest trash hopper, which was full of aluminum cans, I've ever seen.
"Praise Jesus!" Kevin shouted, pulling the ear plug out of his right ear, and sticking it into his left ear.
After a few minor adjustments Kevin continued, "What yous got to do is this, you jump in them cans, and you take that shovel and you rake 'em to the back of that hopper. So we can put more in the front, from the loading dock. We gots to get it all full before the truck comes and takes it off and brings us an empty hopper."
And just as Kevin said, Jimmy Dale was in that huge ass hopper, sunk up to his thighs in aluminum cans, containing God knows what kind of filth, from spit cans to backwash juice, raking cans toward the back.
"It ain't hard, boy." Kevin said smiling. "You get the hang of it pretty quick. You just has to...Praise Jesus!..."
It was then that I realized Kevin was screaming Praise Jesus, not because he was crazy, but because he was testifying to whatever the preacher was preaching on his radio program.
"You just has to watch out for them leeches, is all, boy."
"Yeah," Jimmy Dale said as he crawled out of the cans using the snow shovel as a crutch. "Those little bastards get all up in them cans."
"Praise Jesus!"
"They like the sugar in them pop cans." Jimmy Dale said. "And maybe they like the beer in the beer cans? I know I do."
You'd think that being profanely berated while being exposed to macabre porn by belligerent steel workers would be the worst job you could have.
You'd be wrong.
That dubious distinction goes to Borg Steel, which doesn't make steel as the name implies. They sell scrap. And the summer I spent there, in 1988 for those playing along at home, went down as one of the most surreal working experiences I've ever had.
Until I BLOG again...I never thought that this would ever be my fate.
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