“Floor Crew”

c. 2017 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(7-17)

It was a quiet Sunday morning in Thompson.

I had nearly finished a pot of coffee, made just after daybreak. At the other end of our house, my Black Lab had taken his traditional position by the front window. Sunlight bathed his dark body. But he slumbered with no interest in greeting the day. He snored like an old man.

I was checking e-mail messages when my phone began to ring. A moment of disbelief passed quickly. It did not seem possible that anyone would waste such a moment of weekend liberty making calls. But the stored chime of a vintage rotary device sounded defiantly. When I answered, a familiar voice cheered with abandon.

“Good morning, Rodster. How are ya?”

It was erstwhile cohort Big Ralph, chief of maintenance with my last employer. A literal ‘jack of all trades.’ Gifted at learning on-the-fly. Able to do carpentry, mechanical repair, and electrical wiring, while still finding time to play the role of barbecue chef for his sons and grandchildren. I had tried to reach him two weeks ago. His busy schedule often created gaps in our stream of communication. They sometimes kept me guessing about details. Yet I knew that eventually, he would make contact.

“Hello, Ralph,” I said brightly.

“They have been riding me rough!” he explained. “And not in a good way. Lots of fixer-up projects to be done over the summer. And I can’t keep anyone on the floor crew. Would you believe that tonight, I have a homeless guy running the automatic scrubber? The poor fellow was begging in front of a McDonald’s in Lake County. I offered him a job. Can’t get people to work anymore!”

I shook my head. “That was why I called two weeks ago. About a job. A paycheck. Gas money, at least.”

“You want to work for me?” he laughed out loud.

My spirit sank into a mood of resignation. “I’ve been off work for nearly nine months now. Sending resumes everywhere. To every store in Northeastern Ohio. So far, I’ve had one interview.”

“With 30 years of management experience?” he shouted. “Horseshit! I think you’ve been drinking beer, eating Doritos and watching ESPN.”

“No, really,” I protested. “It has been a tough search. I even applied to run a Goodwill store. And tried to get hired at a car dealership.”

“Screw that!” he barked, “What about your writing?”

“None of the newspapers are hiring,” I said. “My resume has gone to every publication from here to Lorain and south to Akron and Youngstown. Plus the Cleveland-area magazines. The only one I haven’t tried yet is the old Painesville Pride. Used to get that in the mail for free, when I had a house there with my first wife. Not sure if that is printed anymore.”

“Painesville Pride?” he snorted. “Never heard of it.”

“They had the most unusual columnist I ever read. An amateur with no inhibitions. Her tagline for each week’s installment was ‘I remain Joanie, then and now.’ Like somebody’s grandma had a word processor.” My head filled with memories.

Big Ralph cleared his throat. “Well, anyway, if you really want a job with me, I’d be happy to put you on the team. But could you really do the work?”

“Yes!” I answered with confidence.

“Leaning on your cane?” he probed.

“Back in the 80’s, I would show up on Sunday morning after a night at the long-lost Chardon Beverage & Bar. The only thing that kept me vertical was the floor machine. But I got the store clean before opening.” My head bowed. “I did that kind of work with three different retail companies. In those days we were expected to handle a variety of chores.”

“I hear ya!” he smiled.

More memories filled my brain. “At Rini-Rego Stop-n-Shop, we could barely keep a porter on the crew. So there were nights where I managed the store until closing, took off my dress shirt and tie, and proceeded to run the scrubber.”

Ralph struggled to breathe. “Insane, I tell ya!”

“My money is almost gone,” I confessed. “Nobody is calling back on my resume submissions. I reckon they are too shy about hiring a middle-aged man with mobility issues. So it’s time to bite the bullet. I need work. Any kind of work...”

“Once again, I hear ya!” he agreed.

“This can last another three weeks,” I said. “Then, things will start falling to pieces. Would prefer not to end up on the street. I did that in New York, 35 years ago. Would not fare so well in my current condition.”

“Of course,” he answered, turning serious. “Rod, you’ve got a place on my crew whenever you need it. Just tell me when you want to start.”

“Three weeks from today,” I declared. “If this situation doesn’t turn around. One last roll of the dice. Hoping against hope itself. Then… I start cleaning your floors.”

“If you’re serious, come find me in Ashtabula,” he said.

My voice went hoarse. “I owe you, brother.”

Suddenly, Big Ralph leaned away from his phone. He bellowed instructions to the homeless man from Lake County. “Don’t ya get it? Lift the squeegee. You’re leaving trails all over the aisle. Pay attention, will ya?” Apparently, he needed my help no less than I needed employment.

“Take it easy, Rodster!” he shouted. “I gotta take this guy back to the McDonald’s!” The line went dead before he could say anything more.

I thumbed through pages in my unemployment notebook. Entry after entry lay open before me. I counted each week of the job search. Just like my previous experience, ten years before, it had been something of an ordeal. Only thrifty habits and a bit of good luck had made it possible to survive this long.

As Harry Chapin once sang: “All my life is a circle.”

I was about to experience that reality once again – three weeks from today.

Comments or questions about ‘Words on the Loose’ may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com

Write us at: P.O. Box 365 Chardon, OH 44024

Published weekly in the Geauga Independent