When I was a kid, my
dad put me to work in a little engineering shop. My jobs were to cut steel
jackets on a lathe, and run the semi-automatic hacksaw.
Friday night
everyone left on time. I waited for the owner to come by and give me my first
paycheck.
He showed up very
drunk, and couldn’t remember the combination to the safe. So, he called his
wife; “Hey, Doris! What the hell is the combination? I need to get into the
safe,” he yelled. He was so drunk he sat on the floor with his legs splayed
out, leaning on the safe, yelling.
The office was in front,
on a fairly busy street, and the front door was wide open. But I was so paralyzed I
didn’t think to close it.
“Four to the left.”
He yelled. “Then back around to, what? Seven? Okay then what?” He yelled.
“fifteen?”
Two shots of yelling
out the numbers, the safe opened, and he handed me a twenty.
I had earned twelve
dollars that first week, not bad money for a fifteen year-old kid in the early
Fifties. Anyway, I thought I’d hit the jackpot. I hoped he’d come in drunk
every Friday night.
The next Friday, he
wasn’t drunk. I had earned fourteen dollars that week.
He handed me my pay.
Six bucks, minus the extra eight he’d given me the week before. I must have had
quite a look on my face, because he said, “That’s right, isn’t it?
Fourteen—minus the eight I gave you last week?”
I nodded yes, and
left broken-hearted.
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