The Last of the Work

Well, life has been busy, and now summer is basically over. But, here’s the last of the work stories.

I did the BARS Program a few more times. I revisited the store where that one kid had gotten so upset and torn his red card. He was working again. I suspected it was he, and that suspicion was confirmed when he looked at me hard, crossed his arms, and said mockingly, “Can I see some ID?” I chuckled and said, “I thought that was you.” He took his green card, then began questioning me about the whole process, and why it was he would get in trouble for not carding someone obviously of age. He pointed out that he could just say he thought I was over 30, and how would I be able to get him in trouble? I shrugged and told him he’d found the loophole, and I had no idea. Best to just card everyone.

I had another assignment that was interesting, a one day job. Coca-Cola has a call center near my house that needs two people to come in once a month and sort Coke products. They give their employees a discounted group order, and when it ships, we come in and sort it for them. So I spent the morning making Bob’s pile, Sally’s pile, and so forth. The only reason I was excited was that I’ve wanted to see the inside of that place for a long time. I wanted to know what happened there, whether it was a bottling location, or what. It’s actually rather boring, but I enjoyed getting paid to discover that.

The job I most enjoyed was a 3.5 day project. A company wanted to test their EZ-Pass technology, and hired some experts from New York, Canada, Ohio, and the Carolinas to come and run the show. They came and used the Crofton Raceway, and hired us to drive the cars they rented. I drove a 2010 Toyota Corolla, which was nice, but had a lame engine. A few times I worried I would burn it out just trying to keep up. Each car had a number, and we were assigned walkie-talkies. They had a variety of vehicles, and arranged us in ‘platoons’ to simulate as many real life situations possible. There were ten of us in sedans, SUVs, a minivan, a cube truck (the smaller kind of moving van), and an 18-wheeler. We had a varying number of lanes, and would go through as a group, one row at a time, one column / lane at a time, sometimes at 5mph, 25mph, and 65mph. It was very fun. During breaks, you could read, walk around, do whatever. The minivan had a TV and DVD player, so that was the movie van. I had better books, though, and I had absolutely no desire to be anywhere near the driver of that van. The reason for that goes back to the very first day of that job.

The morning of day one was spent familiarizing ourselves with our cars, walkies, each other, the process, etc. My car happened to be parked next to the minivan, which was driven by Yuri, a guy from Ukraine who immigrated with his family when he was a kid. He was in his upper twenties, arrogant, sort of belligerent, and had a case of localized fat such that he looked 9 months pregnant. And that is not an exaggeration. Anyway, he was blaring his techno music, of which I was not fond, and trying to talk to me through the windows as I adjusted my settings. We wound up shouting to each other because of the volume. I sat in the passenger seat of his van, which meant we could talk at a polite yell. I decided I didn’t like him, and he made an impolite comment, and thankfully just then we had to get to work, so I left. We drove 5 laps in each platoon, and after a few platoons, they told us to park in the new order, but wait for about 30 minutes before getting on the racetrack while they fixed something. Out of nowhere, Yuri (or Urine, as my sister dubbed him) popped into my car and started talking again. He looked at the car in front of us and noticed it was filled with males. “They seem to prefer male company,” he said. “I don’t understand that at all.” Oh geez, I thought. He told me all about his girlfriend in Ukraine that he had just met online a few weeks before, and that they talk for hours every day over Skype, and how he can’t wait to get a real job so he can take time off right away and visit her, blah.

Somehow we began talking about drinking, and I mentioned that I only drink what I like and when it pairs well with the food, not just drinking to drink. Well this seemed to impress him, because he said, “Wow, we should hang out.” Now the correct response to this would have been, “Um, no.” but I am plagued with the desire to be polite as often as possible, which can get me in trouble. I told him my parents wouldn’t be comfortable with that, which he tried to work around, but I blocked him at every pass. A simple “No” would have been better. “Anyway,” I continued, “I don’t think your girlfriend would like that.” He got offended and said, “I didn’t imply anything more than hanging out!” “I didn’t say you did,” I replied. And then he began his soliloquy about her again. He complained about the inadequacies of Skype, and I told him to be grateful for it. “Not too long ago, you would have had to write a letter that may or may not make it to her, and wait for weeks for a reply.” “Well I’m something of a romantic,” he responded; “I like writing letters.” “So do I,” I said. “I bet your boyfriend gets a kick out of that,” he replied sarcastically. I told him I don’t have a boyfriend. “What? You don’t? Wow! If I weren’t already sort of in a relationship, I’d say, ‘In that case, what are you doing tomorrow night?’” I was secretly appalled. I wondered if I had a neon sign that said, “Desperate! Date me or I die!” One again I was saved by the walkie, and from that moment on I studiously avoided him. This happened about a week and a half after my first experience along these lines, so I hadn’t fully recovered yet. Honestly, though, what conceit to just assume I’d actually want to go out with him! Ugh. Looking 9 months pregnant seriously didn’t help.

For lunch, everyone generally drove off to get fast-food. I always brought my lunch, and sat with Rusty, the guy who took notes. He was a brick mason from Ohio out of a job. His cousin got him the job, and he told me he was shocked people got paid to write things in a notebook, but was glad for the work since he’d been laid off. He told me about his family, let me try some of the venison he grilled for his lunch (one of his sons had shot it and he brought it with him, and it tasted great), and told me about brick laying. I always felt at ease around him, Bob (the big boss), Glen (second-in-command, who made faces at me when I drove by and laughed when I cracked Star Wars jokes over the walkie), and Adam (he sometimes drove, directed traffic, and sat at the entrance to the racetrack). There was also an old man from Canada who was always puffing on his pipe. I knew I recognized the tobacco, and he told me it was Black Cavendish. Glen laughed and said, “Yeah, you should see him when he goes back home; he stops off at the last CVS on this side of the border and gets a few pounds and smuggles it in, since they don’t sell it in Canada!”We never interacted with the people who had hired them to do the testing. Some of my fellow drivers were OK. I knew two from Nordstrom, one of whom was Enon. I asked him how he was enjoying Alice in Wonderland, and he said he liked it. I’m not sure if he had even cracked the cover, but I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt.

We had an interesting incident on the third morning. When arranging ourselves in a new platoon, one of the SUVs clipped a sedan. I looked in time to think, “Huh, she’s cutting it close.” Yeah, that was too close. So that put a stop to work until after lunch, because there was paperwork and stuff for them to fill out. While we waited, I hunted bugs in the area. I earned the nickname “The Bug Lady” since I was always finding them, holding them, etc. There were lots of cool varieties I’d never seen before, even though it was about 30 minutes from my house. There were also a lot of trucks processing gravel, dirt, and stuff like that since there was a quarry of sorts right there. A few hours later, the walkie crackled and Bob said, “Kathleen, where are you? We need to give you your reward.” I waved, and he and Adam came over. I had no idea what to expect. Bob said, “Since the sedan is out of commission, we need to shuffle the vehicles a little. Your reward for being the best driver here is that you now get to drive the cube truck.” I was scared. “Are you serious? I’ve never driving anything that big before!” I protested. “You can do it,” Adam said. “You’re the best driver we have; you’ll be fine.” I was having flashbacks to my car flip in Idaho, so I wasn’t so sure. But I said I’d do it, and thanked them. It was so fun! It was much easier than I’d expected, and it was neat being up so high. And the fact that I had my hair in pigtails that day just made the whole picture funnier. Glen laughed and said, “It’s always fun seeing women drive huge trucks!” Adam sat at the entrance to the track and thumbs upped me as I went by. He took a turn driving one of the SUVs and gave me tips here and there. When I gave the keys back at the end of the day, I thanked Bob again and told him how much I enjoyed driving that truck. He said, “Now you can tell your friends when they move that if they load, you’ll drive, and charge them for it!”

I really enjoyed working for Bob & Co., and since they were all polite, fun, hardworking blue collar men I felt right at home. I learned a lot from that job, and more than just driving a cube truck. I learned about brick laying, bugs, making dirt and gravel, and that I need to sacrifice manners to give the right answer to fat, pushy Ukrainians.