He
felt fortunate to have had the opportunity to apply for and to be
given his current menial job. The pay was Government-prescribed
minimum. Because of the gruelling physical labour, a shift was only
four hours.
Workers
could volunteer for extension of the shift another four hours, at
double pay. Although the Company was desperate for workers in
back-to-back overtime shifts, volunteers were not automatically
accepted. Only exceptionally healthy and conscientious labourers were
accepted. The gruelling physical work took cruel toll on a worker.
Most
of the part-time workers were students working their way through
University. Next-day classes made it unwise for them to work two
consecurive shifts. The Company discouraged them from volunteering,
and if the student insisted, their health and work ethic were closely
considered before a decision was made.
The
work was mindlessly all-physical: moving empty small wood crates out
of the way in a loading zone of a factory.
He
had no idea what the crates contained originally, and he was not
interested in knowing.
The
work area was constantly in dangerously near-chaos, accomodating
noisy huge trucks arriving and leaving; some being loaded, some being
off-loaded.
Because
of the air pollution, the necessary communications among workers were
mostly by hasty body language visual signalling, and other movements
unaccompanied with speech. At every moment, there were about six
other workers engaged in the same mindlessly frantic work as he.
This
was part-time employment for him. A total of no more than ten hours a
week. For the rest of the week he was a student at the local
University, in the last year of his three-year qualification as a
nuclear physicist. He was finishing his last written assignment for
the year.
If
he successfully completed this final year, he was already assured of
being hired by the National Space Exploration Agency situated a
thousand miles away in the Nation's capital City.
He
was in the university library, sitting at a table, his back to the
main entrance, plodding away at his assignment. He did not hear her
approach.
She
was slim; and his age, probably. He became aware of her presence when
she moved a chair closer to him across the table, and sat in it,
looking at him. The hint of a smile on her face was almost entirely
mirthless.
He
was at a loss. Her clothing loudly showed she was not a librarian of
any level. She wore no jewellery.
"Am
I in trouble?" "You could be. Let's talk outside." She
walked away. He hurriedly put his papers into his plastic grocery
bag, and followed her. He was worried. At this near-end of his
studies, he could not afford to be in trouble at the university.
His
thoughts quickly paged through the possibilities. His rent in the
university residence? His fees? Prescribed class assignment
submissions? Class attendance? He did not own a vehicle; not even a
bicycle, so there could be no traffic fines. He was really troubled.
There was a clear demeanour of accusatory authority about her, as she
strode away in high heels. High heels at her age?
She
was waiting for him at the farthest end of the corridor. He was a
little relieved at this. It was far enough to be out of earshot of
persons approaching or leaving the library by a stairway at another
nearer corner of the corridor.
He
approached her. He was nervous. She was in full control. "You
were not at my birthday party." He was overwhelmingly puzzled.
He could not speak.
She
continued, either insensitive to his discomfiture, or deliberately
taking advantage of it, "Do not tell me you did not receive an
invitation. I saw my driver hand out a bunch to your foreman at the
loading area. All your fellow manual labourers attended, and had a
great time."
"I
am so very sorry. I must have received one, but I do not recall
reading it. There is so much dangerous noisy chaos in that area. Lots
of injuries at every shift. I have had so many close calls. I'm very,
very sorry."
There
were seconds of silence during which she scrutinized his face and
total body language for signs of dishonesty. He was totally
miserable.
"All
right. You have to make up for it." "Yes, yes. Of course.
Just say how." "My father owns the factory. You must come
visit us." "Yes. I will." "Day after tomorrow."
"Oh dear. Oh dear." "What?" "I leave
tomorrow to attend an all-day seminar with my thesis advisors in
another city. I have to be there for days. I don't know how many."
She
saw his discomfort. She took pleasure in it. She deliberately delayed
saying anything in response.
She
let him fidget awhile before she said, softly, with a broad
artificial smile, "Phone me when you are free." She handed
him a business card. He took it, nervously. "I will."
Without glancing at the card, he quickly tucked it away into his
shirt in a fold he wittingly assumed was a pocket.
Timidly
and stammeringly, he asked, "So, you are not from the
Government? Or the University?" She smiled, thoroughly revelling
in his discomfiture. "You are cute when you are being silly.
When is your next shift on that loading zone?" "Next week.
Tuesday afternoon." "Will you be back in town before then?"
"Not likely. I'm planning to be back on Tuesday in time for my
shift." "Okay. If I do not get a call from you before then,
I will defintely see you at the beginning of your shift." "Yes.
Thank you."
As
she walked passed him, she warned him, "Do not disappoint me a
second time."
He
tried to speak, but he was so choked up, he couldn't. She walked down
the stairs, and out of sight. He scurried to find the nearest
bathroom.
On
Tuesday, he reported for work at the loading site. She was not there.
He worked the whole four-hour shift. She did not show up. During the
shift, he contrived to talk casually with the other workers and the
foreman, about the factory.
The
foreman notified them that all were invited to the wedding of the
factory owner's only child and daughter.
He
was overjoyed, on two counts. First, that meant he did not have to
phone her. Second, the wedding date was months away at a time when he
would be far, far away working at the Space Agency.
At
the end of the shift, when he was in the foreman's office to collect
his wage, he was informed the boss had sent a car to drive him home.
The boss did this occasionally when a labourer impressed with an
exceptionally conscientious work ethic. As well, it meant that worker
had a bright future of work in the factory.
In
fearful perspiration and utter desperation, he applied for an
extension of his shift another four hours.
Contact
Ezra (Unless
you
type
the
author's name in
the subject
line
of the message we
won't know where to send it.)
