"THERE'S NOTHING OUT THERE" - Adventures of an Ex-Factory Worker PART 2

Continued from PART 1

There was Kevin, the guy that talked about watching LOGOtv at all times. He had a pierced tongue and an old coworker would ask me, "Why in the hell would a man have his tongue pierced? A man?" Kevin bought devices, all of which he'd place in his basement. There was a horse collar, ball-gags, an electro-stimulator, life-sized cardboard cutouts of wrestlers and NASCAR drivers, disco lights, god knows what else. One brave fellow that visited his home found a mannequin which was dressed to look remarkably like one of our coworkers. Kevin talked about his “hobbies” and then wondered why everyone in the shop gossiped about him. The most memorable hobby was his straddling a cat and letting it paw at his hanging balls—balls that were enhanced by a ball-stretcher.

One sunny day I was walking around the back of the building and saw inside a fenced-in place a blow-up doll. It looked jailed there, her arms out to the sides and mouth opened, hoping to be rescued. I failed her but her hero did finally come. Kevin quickly deflated her, balled her up, and carried her back to his toolbox. A day or so later Kevin walked over, as I was cutting steel, and said, "I fucked her."

There was Danny, a small man, under five foot, who had one leg that didn't work well or would not bend properly. He slid it and wobbled over it, slid it and wobbled over it. He had a mullet and a beard and talked like a child about old TV shows that no one heard of, like Sigmund and the Sea Monsters. Poor Danny was so slow at his job that he had to be retrained many times to increase his efficiency. I could almost see the stress pouring out of him. He stepped up on his stool to reach his machine and worked through all of his breaks, nervous as all hell about getting enough work out but never did because he worried about it too much. Poor Danny was financially ruined years before by a stripper, Baby Doll, who he flew out to Las Vegas—the stripper, his mother, and he.

All these characters were somehow directed to me so they could tell their stories. A bald man that looks like the guy on Pawn Stars would bring in containers of food for his select friends. I hardly talked to him so I don't know how I got to be one of the select. I always thought he was a real asshole. Regardless, I was talking to him one day and he began telling me about his family and his children. I asked him about his kids and he broke down like no man I'd seen before. It hurt my stomach to see that. Especially since he was obviously not the weeping sort.

The old man, Bill, who wondered why a man would have his tongue pierced, became a victim of a prank, returning to work one morning with a dildo in his hand, shaking it in a coworker's face, shouting, "What the fuck is this?" which the other man replied, "I don't know what the fuck that is but you better get it out of my face." Bill had arrived home the past day and while walking around his car, noticed the dick sticking out of the front grill.

I know about the current state of young people who are mad about the way corporations work. And it is troubling the way the companies—at least the ones I've worked for—make you feel indebted to them or cause you to be afraid to travel out on your own. As the president of my company said to some of my coworkers, "Go ahead and leave. We'll have a line of people down the street tomorrow who want to fill your job."

The people that I worked with, for the most part, were not happy. I saw myself as an old man working there and knew I must get out, like those braver employees advised. Some who worked there for ages and complained of corporate greed wouldn't let me borrow a damned quarter so I could buy a pop out of the machine.

They were mostly very frightened lot whose nerves were bad and they clung to their jobs for safety. "What are you going to do?" one lady asked me when she found out that I was leaving. "There's nothing out there."

The look she gave me was awful.

I turned around and pulled the voluntary lay off sheet out of my toolbox, signed it, and handed it to my boss. What a liberating feeling it was. I felt like some prophet from old so I grew my beard and, even more ascetic of me, switched my major to English.