c. 2024 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(7-24)
Hagreb Tonta was somewhat anxious about moving into an isolated community of mobile homes. The neighborhood was very different from where he had lived before, in Cleveland. Some things were admittedly better, like having a private bedroom, a real kitchen, and a pair of machines for his laundry that weren’t shared with other residents. But he worried about fitting in, socially. Most of the other people he saw were poor, white, blue-collar laborers. The type of individuals usually suspicious of outsiders and those of an exotic, distant bloodline. Yet his worry soon abated. Because he worked third-shift throughout the week, at least six days or seven, he rarely saw anyone else. In fact, other citizens of the park thought that his trailer must have been bought as an investment opportunity, with no one actually staying at the premises.
He was home when others were away at work, and gone when many of them returned.
His new home store was bigger than any others where he had been assigned. The crew he supervised was big, with at least a dozen employees working eleven o’clock at night, to seven in the morning, between grocery, dairy, frozen, and produce. They had a contract service to do janitorial duties, with several members who were immigrants from Russia. Though their command of the English language was only fair at best, hearing them chatter to each other made him feel less out of place. He was used to living in a metropolitan environment, with a diverse population.
At store 6609, just as at home in his new digs, he was an oddity.
For a few weeks, the team at his supermarket was quiet about having someone so obviously foreign in charge. His nerdy look, with thick glasses and black, wavy hair stood out among his underlings, who had mostly been hired from local cities and townships in the county. Some poked fun at his accent, or his stilted diction and occasional use of words they could not understand. But eventually, there was an uprising of sorts. When disciplinary actions were handed out by their general manager, for being below the case-count standard, grumbling erupted.
Jimmy Speck confronted his team leader on a Monday after their first break, as everyone was returning to the aisles.
“Hey Haggot! What’s with the bitch notices we got tonight? That’s bullshit, you figure our numbers. I’ve always busted ass here, I don’t deserve to get whacked! Maybe we got some lazy mofos on this gang, but it damn sure ain’t me dragging tail! Can’t you add up the count right?”
His overnight boss felt the air around them get hotter. He removed his glasses, and yawned with fatigue.
“My name is Hagreb, have you forgotten? I calculate everyone’s score accurately. Keep in mind that the performance numbers are to track our productivity. It is a yardstick they use. The union steward will tell you that any write-up is actually bogus...”
Jimmy huffed and flexed his muscular arms, which were covered with tattoos of Confederate flags, and the Christopher Gadsden snake design.
“SO, WHAT THE EFF? I DON’T SIGN THIS GAWDAMM PIECE OF PAPER?”
Hagreb nodded in agreement.
“The older union members would say that we don’t sign anything but our paychecks. That’s a throwback to the days when we had them printed out, of course. Give your corrective notice to the daytime manager on duty, before we leave in the morning. He or she will write ‘reviewed and refused’ where you would have scribbled your signature...”
The redneck kid was stocky and bald. He jabbed his right fist in the air.
“I think this is a scam, you’re covering your own ass! We need more help in this dump, the loads have been ridiculous lately! Check the billing totals! Pallets and pallets and pallets of stock, every night! And they want things straightened up, it has to look pretty for the bastards who work here when the sun is shining. Screw them! Screw this company! And screw you, dickhead!”
The former Rini-Rego associate frowned and muttered in an unfamiliar tongue. Then, pointed his index finger like a gun.
“I was at the old Stop-n-Shop by Euclid Square Mall, we got cut down to a crew of three people working this shift. Our porters would call off or quit frequently, so we had to do the floors and bathrooms when all the groceries were stocked. We also unloaded deliveries overnight, for the meat department. It was torture working for people who had been shuttled around and abused by Fazio’s, a forerunner of that company. They were savages! All bitter and mad and sour about their dreadful lives. You get pampered now, it’s a different world. Trust me, this is a good place to work. Quit complaining, and do your job!”
Jimmy reddened like a ripe tomato.
“My dad and stepmom live in your freaking trailer park! Linn and Haki Speck! What a hole in the ground! They told me you’re a hermit, other than coming here. No life, no friends, no family, nothing! Dad says he thinks you must be drugged. Is that it? Do you get stoned or messed up on something else?”
Hagreb was very tired. But they still had at least a thousand cases of stock to process.
“I’ll say this one more time, James. Get back to your aisle, and do your job!”
The rotund instigator smashed a jar of spaghetti sauce on the floor.
“I’M FILING A GRIEVANCE, HAGGOT! THEY SHOULD’VE SENT YOU TO ONE OF THE GHETTO STORES, NOT HERE! YOU BELONG IN AN ARAB POSSE! THOSE EFFERS TREAT EVERYBODY LIKE SHIT! YOU’RE A PIECE OF SHIT! I DON’T NEED TO BE HASSLED BY A NEARSIGHTED FREAK WHO HAS SKIN LIKE A BROWN PAPER BAG!”
His crew leader stood firm, with both legs apart and fists clenched.
“Listen to me, you’ve got two choices. Return to your U-boat of stock, or punch out. Either way, we’ll finish the grocery order and tidy up the shelves. But if you hit the time clock, I can’t guarantee that you’ll still be employed here. Please think carefully before you choose...”
Jimmy growled and kicked at the red sauce and broken glass.
“IS THAT A THREAT? IS THAT A GAWDAMM THREAT?”
Hagreb wished that their shift was already over. Yet he did not flinch or abdicate his responsibility.
“It’s a statement of fact. Everyone on the schedule has to pull their weight. You and me and all of us... I don’t get a free pass just because of carrying the keys. Understand? Decide what you want to do, and do it now!”
The rowdy youngster had his father’s lack of testicular fortitude. After blowing off steam, he had run out of courage. He cut pieces of cardboard with a safety blade, and used them to scoop the glass shards and sauce into an empty box. Then, shuffled back to his aisle.
Classic Rock was playing on the public address system. A song by Thin Lizzy echoed across the sales floor.
“Tonight there’s gonna be a jailbreak
Somewhere in this town
See, me and the boys, we don’t like it
So we’re getting’ up and goin’ down
Hidin’ low, looking right to left
If you see us comin’, I think it’s best
To move away, do you hear what I say
From under my breath...”
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