Rumbleseat
"Hey college boy," the 2nd helper* said to me as he dug through his locker in the spell shack. I knew it was his locker because of the Foreign Steel, Steals Jobs bumper sticker that was stuck to it.
"This will put hair on your chest..." he said as he threw down a magazine in front of me. "Or your dick."
Then he laughed. Which was really more cackle than laugh.
I can still see that magazine today. Twenty three years later. It was dirty. Literally. Grimy steel mill filth all over what had once been glossy pages. And dog eared. The magazine looked as if it had been read, or used, 100s, if not 1000s of times. But the dirtiest part. Was the title. Black and Pink.
I pushed the magazine away.
"What are ya...queer?" the 3rd helper* asked.
"He must not be learning anything up there at that fancy college," the 2nd helper said to the 3rd helper. "I thought all those college boys did was drink beer and fuck."
"Yeah," the 3rd helper said to the 2nd helper. "Those college boys probably fuck each other."
"They wouldn't know what to do with a piece of ass like this..." the 2nd helper said to the 3rd helper as he opened up Black and Pink and stabbed his dirty finger at one of the models. "I love me some good fuck books."
I got up from the spell shack table, which was really more a mobile home than shack, and went to the coffee machine which was as dirty as the Black and Pink magazine. That's the thing about steel mills. They are filthy. Dirty. And loud. And hot.
It must have been 100 degree outside in the sun, but in the steel mill, near the furnace, it was probably 110 to 115. Factor in that you're wearing heavy boots, pants, shirt and coat, for protection, and well, it gets hotter than hell. Meanwhile in the spell shack, which is where we took our breaks, the window unit AC was cranked hard, and in such a small space, well it felt like it was 50 degrees.
I took a drink of the bitter coffee, which was good, only because it was warm, when the 2nd helper said to the 3rd helper, "The police," only he said it so it sounded like PO-Lease, "are coming after our break. They're going to put all the confiscated weapons in our next heat.* Can you believe that shit?!?!"
"Man," the 3rd helper said to the 2nd helper shaking his head in disbelief, "that's just wrong. All those weapons. Nice weapons. Being destroyed like that. It ain't American."
"Ain't that the truth." the 1st helper* said looking up from his copy of JUGS.
"Hey college boy," the 2nd helper said.
"What?"
"You like guns?" He asked.
"Not really. I don't own any. If that's what you mean. And don't really hunt."
The 3rd helper shook his head. Like I was a lost cause.
The 2nd helper looked at me and smiled, a smile, that was three teeth short and said, "How about fishing," which sounded like fission.
"Nuclear?" I asked.
"Don't be funny, boy." he warned me. Stabbing that dirty finger at me, the same dirty finger that had earlier stabbed the Black and Pink girl.
"I used to go with my grandparents. They had a houseboat up on Lake Keystone. But I haven't been in years."
"What they teach you up at that college, anyway, Yellow Hat*?" the 1st helper asked me.
I started to tell him what I was majoring in, got, maybe three words into it when I realize that the 1st helper's question was rhetorical.
Not that he knew what rhetorical meant.
The 2nd helper grabbed another fuck book off the large pile in the center of the spell shack table and languidly flipped through the pages. I could see what he was looking at, which looked more like Hieronymus Bosch had dreamed up some sort of gynecological self examination poses for the models versus any porn I'd ever want to look at.
Finally the 2nd helper said, "You don't like huntin', you don't like fishin', and you don't like our fuck books."
He smiled. His dirty smile.
"They must be teachin' you how to be queer up at that college."
Until I BLOG again...Yes I'll blow you a kiss, and we'll be ridin' big time in my rumbleseat.
*1st, 2nd and 3rd helper is (or was) steel mill jargon for a furnace crew. It is based on seniority. Or experience. 1st helper being the most senior employee, followed by 2nd and then 3rd helper. The crew is supervised by a foreman who as management doesn't fraternize with the crew on breaks. Union regulations. They have their own spell shacks. A heat is what you call a batch of steel. Each time you fill up the furnace, melt it, and then tap it = one heat. College kids like myself, who were short time summer help, had to wear yellow hats which could easily identify us in the mill and hopefully prevent us from killing ourselves or someone else. As you can imagine, a steel mill is an extremely dangerous place. On a few levels.
"This will put hair on your chest..." he said as he threw down a magazine in front of me. "Or your dick."
Then he laughed. Which was really more cackle than laugh.
I can still see that magazine today. Twenty three years later. It was dirty. Literally. Grimy steel mill filth all over what had once been glossy pages. And dog eared. The magazine looked as if it had been read, or used, 100s, if not 1000s of times. But the dirtiest part. Was the title. Black and Pink.
I pushed the magazine away.
"What are ya...queer?" the 3rd helper* asked.
"He must not be learning anything up there at that fancy college," the 2nd helper said to the 3rd helper. "I thought all those college boys did was drink beer and fuck."
"Yeah," the 3rd helper said to the 2nd helper. "Those college boys probably fuck each other."
"They wouldn't know what to do with a piece of ass like this..." the 2nd helper said to the 3rd helper as he opened up Black and Pink and stabbed his dirty finger at one of the models. "I love me some good fuck books."
I got up from the spell shack table, which was really more a mobile home than shack, and went to the coffee machine which was as dirty as the Black and Pink magazine. That's the thing about steel mills. They are filthy. Dirty. And loud. And hot.
It must have been 100 degree outside in the sun, but in the steel mill, near the furnace, it was probably 110 to 115. Factor in that you're wearing heavy boots, pants, shirt and coat, for protection, and well, it gets hotter than hell. Meanwhile in the spell shack, which is where we took our breaks, the window unit AC was cranked hard, and in such a small space, well it felt like it was 50 degrees.
I took a drink of the bitter coffee, which was good, only because it was warm, when the 2nd helper said to the 3rd helper, "The police," only he said it so it sounded like PO-Lease, "are coming after our break. They're going to put all the confiscated weapons in our next heat.* Can you believe that shit?!?!"
"Man," the 3rd helper said to the 2nd helper shaking his head in disbelief, "that's just wrong. All those weapons. Nice weapons. Being destroyed like that. It ain't American."
"Ain't that the truth." the 1st helper* said looking up from his copy of JUGS.
"Hey college boy," the 2nd helper said.
"What?"
"You like guns?" He asked.
"Not really. I don't own any. If that's what you mean. And don't really hunt."
The 3rd helper shook his head. Like I was a lost cause.
The 2nd helper looked at me and smiled, a smile, that was three teeth short and said, "How about fishing," which sounded like fission.
"Nuclear?" I asked.
"Don't be funny, boy." he warned me. Stabbing that dirty finger at me, the same dirty finger that had earlier stabbed the Black and Pink girl.
"I used to go with my grandparents. They had a houseboat up on Lake Keystone. But I haven't been in years."
"What they teach you up at that college, anyway, Yellow Hat*?" the 1st helper asked me.
I started to tell him what I was majoring in, got, maybe three words into it when I realize that the 1st helper's question was rhetorical.
Not that he knew what rhetorical meant.
The 2nd helper grabbed another fuck book off the large pile in the center of the spell shack table and languidly flipped through the pages. I could see what he was looking at, which looked more like Hieronymus Bosch had dreamed up some sort of gynecological self examination poses for the models versus any porn I'd ever want to look at.
Finally the 2nd helper said, "You don't like huntin', you don't like fishin', and you don't like our fuck books."
He smiled. His dirty smile.
"They must be teachin' you how to be queer up at that college."
Until I BLOG again...Yes I'll blow you a kiss, and we'll be ridin' big time in my rumbleseat.
*1st, 2nd and 3rd helper is (or was) steel mill jargon for a furnace crew. It is based on seniority. Or experience. 1st helper being the most senior employee, followed by 2nd and then 3rd helper. The crew is supervised by a foreman who as management doesn't fraternize with the crew on breaks. Union regulations. They have their own spell shacks. A heat is what you call a batch of steel. Each time you fill up the furnace, melt it, and then tap it = one heat. College kids like myself, who were short time summer help, had to wear yellow hats which could easily identify us in the mill and hopefully prevent us from killing ourselves or someone else. As you can imagine, a steel mill is an extremely dangerous place. On a few levels.
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