Working Class Hero: a serial novel(Chapter 3: On-the-Job Training)

For the first three weeks I worked with two guys until one of them was hospitalized; Howard and Ralph trained me in the art of dyes. Despite the fact that the work environment left everything to be desired, the job itself wasn’t all that bad. Howard called it cooking with pigments or something like that.

“It’s like whattaya-call-it, those loony-wows Hawaiians are having all the time,” he said.

“It’s called a luau,” Ralph said.

“Yeah a loo-wow, but instead of pig, we cook us up some pig-Mints.” His immense smile held his laughter inside. He was very pleased with his little joke. I could have taken it further and said something about having dinner and an after-dinner mint with the same job but I was too reserved, being new and all, to be so forward. I laughed at his joke though. Ralph frowned.

“As I was saying my man,” Ralph looked at me seriously, “these recipes are pretty straight and dry. They’re not the important thing to remember though. You can always look up every color in this book.” He handed me a three ring binder that must have been a rainbow of colors early in its career but now was just a vile drab brown.

“Julia Childhood’s cookbook,” Howard said. He was in his forties but still had the sense of humor of a teenager. I liked it. I knew that Ralph wanted to correct his mistake though, and scream out “Child, not Childhood,” but had obviously learned over the years that such correction would be a full time job, and he already had this one.

“The main thing to remember is you need to be incredibly careful with this awful shit.” Ralph pointed to a black canister. “Hydrochloric acid. It’ll burn you like a bastard.”

“We used it in chemistry,” I offered smartly.

“Well, this ain’t no test tube,” he said pointing to a large plastic bucket.

“And that ain’t no Ellis-Dee,” Howard said.

“What would you know about LSD,” asked Ralph.

“I sure enough know not to chase it down with a Budweiser,” he replied. Howard was laughing again and I wasn’t sure whether I should expound, using my knowledge of orange sunshine and the other finer acids I had tried during my college days. I was sure Howard had never tried anything more hallucinogenic than Jim Beam, but Ralph you couldn’t tell. He was in his thirties, but he was pretty cool.

“Man, you are one bad trip.” Ralph said. He surrendered to laughter this time. “Anyways, as I was saying before Jackie Gleason cut in, this shit is one bad motherfu….”

“Shut your mouth,” Howard said. There was a movie out then in the theatres called “Shaft”, and Howard’s little comment was part of the title song sung by the chorus who interrupted the main singer as he described the character Shaft as one mean mother… Howard was now humming the tune, or more like scatting the bass line and loudly.

Ralph ignored him this time. “When you pour said acid into said bucket, you want to be extremely, and I mean extremely, careful. But first when you open the canister, use a paper towel to wrap around the cap. Then slowly tip it towards the bucket, like this, and when you pour it, pour it real slow and gentle-like. Any of this stuff splashes in your eyes, say goodbye to your eyesight man.”

Howard laughed. “Say good-bye to your Playboys baby.” I laughed too.

As I said, the job wasn’t that bad. Each night the Screen-print Department Supervisor would hand us a sheet of colors required for the next day’s printing. There were canisters of powdered dye on long tables in the middle of the room. Picking up that large plastic bucket, I’d start scooping in various dyes called out in the recipe. Then I’d very deliberately pour in the acid and start mixing. Finally I’d carry the bucket to a large vat of some molasses-like substance (of which I never learned the name) into which I poured the mixture. I flipped a switch to begin the blending process. Then repeat. All night.

As Ralph had warned, the hydrochloric acid was the tricky part, and I was vigilant to avoid any contact at all. Such mill work moved like clockwork. But one night Howard came back from lunch late, laughing and drunk, bragging about the coming weekend and the Chez When strip club and an all-night bachelor party where he was planning never to “say when”, when he poured acid all over his lower left arm.

He screamed like a madman and Ralph ran to the door and called out for help. I backed against the wall and watched Howard slump to the floor as the supervisor ran in. Howard’s arm was boiling red and I looked away towards the recipe book. A nurse came and they quickly carried him away in a stretcher. He was literally crying out loud and it wasn’t tears of laughter.

“Man, how many times did I try to tell him work ain’t fun and games,” Ralph said to no one in particular. But I heard him. And it was my first real lesson on the job. I could carry that one with me no matter where I went.

Chapter 1: Life Span
Chapter 2: An Academic Dialogue