My First Job

 

My first job as a civilian

after 3-years in the Army.

1968, still only 20-years

old—Benson Manufacturing,

Kansas City, Missouri.

***

Booth head, the Personnel

Director told me, a job

responsible for moving

raw material, piecework

and assorted parts from

one operation to the next.

***

$475 a month, an hourly

based wage. Punch in

on the time clock at

at 7:30 AM. An hour for

lunch. Clock out at 3:30

PM. Five days a week,

some Saturday work and

overtime when required.

Yes, sir. I can handle that.

***

You’re hired, start tomorrow

7:30 sharp. Be on time.

***

A union job—

Iron Workers Local.

Dues will be taken out

of your check.

***

Barely enough money to

support a young family

of three family, but had to

start somewhere, I figured.

***

A group of experienced co-

workers invited me out to

lunch with them after a few

days on the job.

***

The neighborhood tavern.

A few rounds of boiler

makers to start. These were

rough and tumble burly

guys, machinists, fabricators,

equipment operators who

did what they needed to do

to survive their drab, daily,

piecemeal, gritty routine.

***

I was a no-count skinny kid

who didn’t yet have a clue as

to how things worked. Better

get your head out of your ass,

I was advised, and wise up

quick lest you get run over

or cut in two.

***

Needless to say, along with

my seniors, I was required

to drink my lunch that day.

***

And after returning to work,

I wobbled around until I

found a rest room and an

empty stall where I passed

out for an hour or so. The

other guys were not phased

by their alcohol intake and

proceeded with their work.

***

Fortunate for me my ab-

sense was not noticed,

and hungover, I staggered

about moving material

from one station to

another sick as a dog.

***

Any more shenanigans

like this and surely I’d

get my ass tossed out

onto the street, fired

and humiliated before

my first paycheck.

***

I had come to the figure

that I was never cut out

to be a beefy blue collar

brute who could handle

alcohol and a job at the

same time.

***

After that incident, I stuck to

drinking after hours on my

own time. In fact, sober or not,

factory work turned out to be

not such a good match for me

either. I was fired a year latter

over an insubordination matter.

***

It took me years, a divorce

and moves from to one job

and place after another to

discover alcohol and I were

a bad mix all together, no

matter when or where.

***

For certain from early on,

I can definitely say, I never

liked blue collar work

anyway.

Oh well, live and learn

they say. I used to wonder,

for me, how many lessons

would that take?

-30-

Chris Hanch 4-23-2021