Page 58 - WTP Vol. X #5

War & Peace in the Window Factory (continued from page 44)
delighted in finding shortcomings in people’s work. He even commented on the way Tyler stacked frames on the pallets. “Could tip over, you know.”
Shortly after Tyler’s first encounter with Hogdson, a barrel-chested farmer who worked a nearby drill press punched Tyler on the arm and said, “Hey, kid, don’t worry about that bastard. Used to be one of us ‘til he got to be a big shot.” Tyler wondered if don’t worry kid meant he’d found a kind of acceptance from some of his co-workers, an occurrence he’d believed unlikely.
Mulling this question, he realized he didn’t know these men. What did they think about all evening? Maybe they dreamed. Maybe they didn’t think about anything. The moments of their existence seemed empty. As Tyler saw it, hopes blasted, in a haze of despondency they worked like automatons. Maybe they’d had no hopes to begin with.
Nonetheless, Tyler wanted their acceptance. He couldn’t have articulated it precisely, but while the life of the mind might be noble and uplifting, there also had to be a life of the spirit, a life of being a human among humans. Why he felt this desire for affinity puzzled him. After all, in his view, the lives of these men had little significance. Yet he wanted them to accept him. Perhaps it was human nature. He was more of a social animal than he’d realized.
~
From time-to-time Tyler put down the book, escaped the plant’s choking atmosphere, and went out on the dock. When he did, he invariably encountered Phil Woodley, a window assembler. Woodley delivered a patter of unrelieved criticism of the bosses and the unfairness of their work environment.
“They don’t just give a guy a chance,” he said. “I’ve gotta get out of here.”
“I guess if there’s anybody that’s got it in for the brass, it’s you,” Tyler said.
“Ya got that right, buddy.”
Then, not even a week later, Tyler ran into Phil near a drying room.
“You’re looking pretty happy tonight,” Tyler said. The man rarely smiled.
“Hey, guess what? I got promoted to sub-foreman. Gotta make sure people do their job right.”
“I thought you didn’t go for the supervisors,” Tyler said.
“Well, I guess I was wrong. They got their reasons. Just have to see things the way they do.”
He sang from a different sheet of music now that he’d become a supervisor himself. So much for getting away; so much for deeply held views. Apparently, it didn’t take much to change somebody’s mind.
Whatever they thought about him, Tyler’s reading on breaks continued to intrigue his workmates. They didn’t say much, just looked at him with sidelong glances when they went by.
One night, however, while Tyler hunkered down on the concrete floor reading, a gaunt-looking window assembler sidled up to him.
“Still reading, huh?” “Yeah.”
The man’s eyes traveled to a faded photo of three scantily clad women fastened to the pillar above Tyler’s head. Such photos and calendars festooned posts and walls throughout the plant.
The assembler addressed Tyler in a smarmy manner. “Got any good parts in that book?”
“Good parts?”
“You know.” The man’s eyes traveled again to the photo. “Some of the guys thought maybe that was why you’re reading this...”
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