busy part of town. He walked some ways, until he arrived at an intersection in what appeared to be the center of town—a small town by the looks of it. He pondered his choices, then turned right onto a street called Main, and found himself passing by a long line of shops, pizza parlors, saloons, and diners. It was the last one on that list that he wanted right now, as he hadn’t eaten for hours.
He ducked into a place called The Diner Train. It was a small place, dimly lit, with a counter up front, tables in the middle, and booths on the sides by the windows. The diner was mostly empty, which made sense, as it was the middle of the afternoon. A guy in a construction uniform sat hunched over at the counter, picking at a slice of pie; at one table sat a mom and her small child, munching on French fries, and at another sat an old couple nursing two coffees.
Jack took a window seat in one of the booths. While he waited, he looked outside, trying to get a feel for the town that was probably going to be his new home for a while. Not that it mattered much. Wherever he went, people were the same. And it was still the same you. Can’t get away from that. Like the saying went: Wherever you go, there you are.
A waitress came over with a menu. She was a short girl, heavy set, with a bright smile and perky breasts that spilled halfway out of her low-cut blouse. “Do you need some time to decide?” she asked, handing him a menu. “Yes, please,” Jack said, taking it from her. “Be back in a few,” she chirped. Jack traced the subtle gyrations of her posterior as she sauntered off. If life on the road had taught him anything, it was that you had to take time to enjoy the simple pleasures. You never know what tomorrow will bring.
Jack perused the menu. With eleven dollars to his name, there weren’t a lot of choices. He decided to go with the burger and fries. When the waitress returned moments later, he placed his order and said “Hey, I was hoping you could help me with something.”
“I will if I can,” she said.
“I’m kind of new in town, and I’m looking for work. Any advice?”
“If you need work, and you need it like, right now, your best bet is Manus Manufacturing. It’s a big place, they’re always hiring, and they take anyone. My brother used to work there until he got fired for being late too much.”
“Sounds good, where is it?” Jack asked.
“Old Hook road.”
“How do I get there?”
The waitress pointed out the window as she spoke, saying “Go straight down this block, till you pass the railroad tracks. That’s old Hook Road. Make a left and go up about two blocks.”
“Great,” Jack said. “You’ve been a big help.”
“I hope so,” she smiled. “Be right back with your burger.”
About ten minutes later she returned with his meal. He gobbled it down quickly, then made his way out, and headed down the street to what he hoped would be his new place of employment.
•
Her directions were right on the mark. There it was, right where she said it would be—Manus Manufacturing—a long, narrow building, three stories high, with rows of windows running across each level, and a smoke stack on the roof that was belching forth a steady cloud of thick, black fumes. He strolled through the mostly full parking lot toward the entrance, and pushed through the large glass double doors, into the lobby of the plant. In front of him was a long counter with a glass pane over it, and little slots in the glass every few yards or so. Above the slots were holes that you could talk through.
He positioned himself by one of the holes and waited for someone to notice him. Behind the glass several workers, mostly women, shuffled about busily. After several long moments, an elderly woman wearing thick glasses attached to a lanyard approached the window and said in a distant voice “Can I help you?”
“I’d like to apply for a job,” Jack said. The woman turned away, walked over to the back wall, and took a paper off a large pile of them. Then she came back and slipped it through the slot, saying “Fill this out. When you’re finished, Mr. Hall will speak to you. He’s does all the hiring around here.” The guy who does the hiring, Jack thought. Perfect. That’s the man I want to see.
He took the application over to a table off to the left of the entrance, filled it out, and approached the window to return it. This time a different woman came over, also older, but with a decidedly nicer disposition. She took the application from him, paged through it very quickly, then said “Bring this up to the second floor, to Mr. Hall’s office.” Then she smiled and said, “Good luck.”
“Thank you,” Jack replied, and headed for the elevator. He pressed 2, waited for a moment, and got out. Application in hand, he walked down a narrow, musty corridor, and knocked on the door with the words Ed Hall: Hiring Manager on them. “Come in,” a gravelly voice rasped from the other side of the door.
He entered. Off to his right sat a fat, balding man behind a desk. He was in his late forties to mid-fifties, and he had a harried, nervous look about him. His face glistened with a thin layer of sweat. He wore a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and suspenders. Jack wasn’t sure he had ever seen a person wearing suspenders outside of the movies. On the desk was an ashtray filled with crushed cigarette butts. That explained the raspy voice. Did people still smoke in offices these days? Did people still smoke at all these days? Another blast from the past. Maybe this guy had been teleported in from the nineteenth century.
“How are you?” the man asked, extending a hand across the desk. “Very well, thank you,” Jack replied. He shook Hall’s hand and sat down, then handed him his application. Hall slid his glasses down from the top of his head and studied it, his face blank. When he was finished he smacked the application with his hand, fingers spread, as if trying to hold it in place against a strong wind and stared intently at Jack. He slid his glasses back up, then said “You don’t stay at your jobs very long. Lots of moving around.”
Jack could not argue with that. The man would have to be blind not to notice that he had done a lot of hopping around. “That’s true,” Jack said. He was not about to offer any explanations or excuses. This was the kind of job you got because you couldn’t find anything better. If he had a good resume, an impressive portfolio, or any meaningful skills, he would not be there in the first place.
Undeterred by Jack’s reticence, Hall placed his glasses back on and began reading items off the application. “Bestfoods Vending, two months; Conway Packing, five months; Monte’s Meat Plant, four months.” He paused and scratched his head. “And they’re all in different towns. Akron. Ashford. Cedar Lake.” He looked at Jack intently, concerned almost. “Why do you move around so much, son?”
Again, Jack wasn’t biting. “I guess I’m just one of those restless souls,” he smiled. “Real restless,” Hall agreed. “Don’t you have any family?”
“Sure,” Jack said, “But I’m kind of on my own now. They’re in Oklahoma.”
Hall just stared blankly into space for a second, then got up, pounded the desk, and said “Follow me.”
Jack followed Hall out into the hallway, onto the elevator, where the hiring manager pressed the number 3. Moments later the doors opened into a large factory area. It was hot as hell and bustling with people. Rows of conveyer belts shuttled merchandise from one person to the next, with each person performing a different task—counting, pressing, packaging, and finally, stacking, until the merchandise was neatly arranged on pallets and ready to be taken out to trucks, which were parked, backs open, at various bays throughout the floor. “Well, this is it,” Hall said. “Think you could handle this for eight hours a day?”
“I think so,” Jack said.
“Good, you’re hired,” Hall replied. “Be here tomorrow at nine and we’ll get you started. Pay is nine bucks an hour; benefits kick in after 90 days, if you stick around that long.”
“Thank you,” Jack said.
Mr. Hall wandered off on the floor while