The Jig of the Union Loller

by Michael Burnham

  Jamie began to speak, but Evelyn held up a hand.

  “My apologies again,” she said. “Take a few days for yourself. If you want the job, you can start Monday.”

  “I’ll take it,” Jamie said.

  “Good,” Evelyn said. “We start at 8:30, with a half-hour lunch, and end at 4:30, which isn’t too bad. Like we talked about, you’ll provide support to the job coaches, helping them with a particular client task or covering for them when they need to do paperwork or attend a meeting. The first week we’ll run you through a series of short training programs, and then we’ll toss you right in. In a month or so, we’ll get you into some coaching, you know, showing the clients how to do an assignment if it’s new and supervising them in short stretches, but we’ll be careful not to give you too much too soon. Sound good? And feel free to wear whatever you’re comfortable in; as you can see we’re pretty informal around here.”

  Evelyn opened a cabinet drawer and pulled out a packet of forms. As she reached to put the packet in front of Jamie, she stopped, and put them on her desk instead.

  “Let’s fill these out later,” Evelyn said. “First I have someone I want you to meet.”

  She left the office, and returned a minute later with a young man about Jamie’s age, thin, with curly black hair and a not-coming-in-too-well goatee. He wore a stud in one ear.

  Evelyn escorted him right up to Jamie, who stood from her chair. “Peter Greeley, Jamie Amognes. Jamie, Peter. You’re our two summer employees.”

  Jamie and Peter shook hands. Evelyn took two yellow slips from her desk drawer and gave them to Peter.

  “You guys go have lunch on me,” Evelyn said. “Talk, get to know each other. You’ll spend a lot of time together over the coming weeks, and I’m sure you’ll have a lot of fun. When you’re done eating, come back here and you can fill out the darn forms. But don’t get used to the free lunches, because with state budgets the way they are, we can’t really afford them.”

  “Ok,” Peter said. “We’ll be back in a half hour.”

  He walked from Evelyn’s office through the outer lobby, took a left, and headed down the hall toward the cafeteria. Jamie followed. At the lunch line someone stepped between them, but once Peter had selected his meal and given the yellow slip to the cashier, he stood to the side and waited for Jamie. They sat across from each other at a small table. Peter smiled. Jamie returned it.

  “Okay,” Peter said. “Nothing like getting thrown in together, is there?”

  “I know,” Jamie said with a smile.

  Peter picked up his sandwich, and Jamie picked up hers. They looked at each other as they chewed. Peter swigged his soda.

  “Have you worked here before?” he said.

  “No,” Jamie said. “My best friend’s mother suggested it to me. I’m looking forward to it.”

  “So am I,” Peter said. “It sure beats all the other jobs I’ve done in the summer.”

  “What have you done?”

  Peter put down his sandwich. “Let’s see...lawnmower, paperboy, gas pumper, burger flipper, beanpicker, stockboy, house painter, and lumberjack.”

  “Lumberjack?”

  Peter smiled. “Well, all I did was drag away wood that other people had cut. We were clearing space for a new housing development.”

  “You’ve done a lot with your summers,” Jamie said. “Until this job, all I’ve ever done is baby sit and do a job here and a job there. Do you go to school?”

  “Central. I’m a senior this year.”

  “Me too. Except I’m at West. We played Central in softball. Do you play sports?”

  “I don’t have time,” Peter said. “I work four nights a week and all day Saturday at the mall.”

  “And this job too?”

  “Yup.”

  Jamie nodded, but didn’t know what to say next, so she ate her ham salad sandwich and looked around the cafeteria at people at other tables. She snuck a glance at Peter and saw him doing the same. When Peter finished the last bite of his sandwich, he pulled the unopened bag of potato chips off his tray.

  “I’ll save these for later. You don’t mind?”

  Why on earth would I mind? Jamie thought.

  “Um, no,” she said.

  Then Jamie noticed Peter didn’t quite know what to do with the chips, as if he’d just realized he was doomed to carry them around the rest of the day, so she placed her sandwich on her tray, checked her lap for crumbs, and took a few final sips of her drink.

  “I’m not very hungry, really. Do you want to go back?”

  Peter nodded. They dumped their trash and returned to the office. Evelyn shook hands with them, gave them pens and a pile of papers, and left. Jamie finished her forms first, but dawdled over the final few signatures to give Peter time to catch up. When she thought he might have noticed she was lingering on purpose, she rose, smiled, shook his hand, and wished him a nice week. He smiled, then returned to the paperwork.

  Instead of returning home, Jamie took a bus to College Square and spent the rest of the afternoon smiling at strangers and wandering the university campus in her simple black dress.

  Chapter 19

  Two weeks after promising himself to reform at work, Claude still arrived before 6:30 each morning. As invoices came in, he entered them. Claude unloaded deliveries he didn’t have to, matched items perfectly when loading the line trucks, and avoided the nest altogether.

  It had also been two weeks since Scotty prepared the posting to replace Nick. Clarke had wanted to wait until the arbiter’s decision before negotiating Gino’s return, because even though he expected the decision to go against the company, the arbiter’s wording in the final document might give him leverage to use against Shepard. When Schulke rushed to human resources to tell Clarke about the posting, Clarke shooed him away, but later the same morning Shepard barged in to complain that he still hadn’t received approval to put up the posting, and would file a grievance if he didn’t get it by three o’clock. It wasn’t fair, he argued, to deny the successful bidder even a day’s increase. Clarke countered that any award could be made retroactively, as they’d done a million times, and asked Shepard to delay the posting a few more days. Shepard balked, saying what Clarke suggested was not the norm, and asking what the union would get in return for such a concession. As soon as he’d spoken the words, though, he saw the motive: Gino. This was all about Gino’s grievance. Clarke was stalling until the arbiter ruled, and he expected the union to win. At that point Shepard began talking. Clarke couldn’t stop him, and Clarke couldn’t get away, and within twenty minutes Shepard talked Clarke into an agreement. Gino’s grievance was withdrawn before it was heard, and he became the newest member of the stores department.

  Although senior members of the meter reading department groused, as did a janitor or two, the move did not cause a major stir among members of the UUW, least of all in stores. John Carrollton moved up into Nick’s spot on the roster, everyone behind John also moved up a notch, and Gino came in on the bottom. At first Gino was insulted by the proposition to put him in stores, but he warmed to it soon enough, given that he would get almost the same pay without having to set poles or string wires. His first official act as a member of the department was to put in for two weeks of newly-reinstated vacation time, a request Schulke denied. Gino went to Shepard, who went to Clarke, who overruled Schulke, and Gino got his vacation.

  “Tell me that didn’t go straight up Schulke’s ass,” Warren said as he, Claude, and Scotty ate lunch in the cafeteria. “That’s what he gets for expecting Gino to be humble. Gino doesn’t care. He’s going to show you who’s boss. When you can beat him, you beat him. Until then, he owns you.”

  “I don’t know why Schulke’s so pissed about this,” Scotty said. “This stuff happens all the time. When an agreement suits both sides, it sticks, and if it conflicts with the contract, so what? What’s the contract but an agreement between union and management? Shit like this, it’s just another card in the game. Those meter
readers were dumb to mouth off. All it can lead to is pissing off the wrong people, and when that happens they’re sure to turn their backs the next time you need a helping hand yourself.”

  “Schulke acts like no management guy ever got the same break,” Claude said with a mouthful of ham sandwich. “He forgets about the Seamus O’Learys of the world.”

  “Who’s he?” Warren said.

  “Shameless?” Scotty said. “Before your time. An engineer. A real beaut. Got caught in his company truck in the company parking lot by the company security camera having sex with one of the college co-op students. She got fired, he didn’t. Company brass didn’t even tell his wife. Got caught weightlifting in the gym when he was supposed to be supervising a substation project near the train yard. Got caught driving a company vehicle to an outdoor rock concert with his two little kids rattling around in the back.”

  “And he was stoned, too” Claude said, “but nobody ever found out about that. Vinny from the garage was with him before he got caught.”

  “And let’s see, there was the restaurant bit,” Scotty said. “During a storm one time Feeney gave $50 in meal money to Shameless and each person on his team. At dinner, Shameless says, look, give me the cash, and I’ll put the entire bill on my credit card, so everyone does, then he goes and submits the credit card receipt with his monthly expense report so he can get the money twice. Feeney blows a gasket, and calls the restaurant for a copy of the itemized bill, and damned if they don’t still have it. A copy shows up in the mail, and guess what?”

  “Two hundred dollars worth of alcohol on the bill,” Claude said.

  Warren wrinkled his brow. “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope,” Scotty said. “Absolutely true. They’re supposed to be putting the lights back on during a blizzard, but instead they’re all getting hammered. I heard he did get positive discipline for that one, at least.”

  Warren finished his lunch and pushed his plate toward the center of the table. Scotty set his elbows on the table and clasped his hands together. Claude leaned back and rested his hands on his belly.

  “This is all the same guy?” Warren said.

  “He had political connections, I think,” Scotty said, “though nothing major. Mostly, it was his personality that kept saving him, because everyone who met him thought he was the nicest guy—until they saw firsthand what a chronic shyster he was. But he sure was a smooth talker. He could charm his way out of just about anything.”

  “And Scotty missed the best story of all,” Claude said.

  Scotty glanced over. “Which one?”

  Claude pointed a finger toward the ceiling. At first Warren and Scotty stared at him, but before long Scotty laughed.

  “You’re right,” Scotty said. “You’re right, I did miss the best one. Get this, Warren. The engineering department instituted a rule that each team leader had to work one Sunday a month until the Hartan Street project was finished. Well, Shamie had season tickets to the Patriots, and he sees the new schedule is gonna cost him four games. So he walks up to the third floor and marches straight past Munson’s secretary—Marianne, at the time —and into Munson’s office. No appointment, no call, nothing, just walks in and starts talking, like buddy to buddy even though Munson’s never seen him before, telling Munson about the tickets and sort of winking that, you know, Munson should give the order to make everything right. According to Marianne, Munson doesn’t say a word, he just stares with his mouth open. Finally, Shameless finishes his spiel, and gives it a ‘so, whaddya say?’ Munson looks at him, then goes, ‘here’s what I say: I’m not your damn supervisor. I’m president of this company. The next time you set foot in this office, you’re fired. Turn and walk away without speaking. Good day.’”

  Warren smiled and turned to Claude. “Is that true?”

  “Every word,” Claude said. “Ask Marianne.”

  “Wow, this O’Leary, he must’ve been really something.”

  “Nope,” Scotty said. “Just another employee at Rhode Island Electric.”

  #

  After lunch, Warren, Scotty, and Claude took a cigarette walk around the perimeter of the parking lot before returning to stores. When they pushed through the plastic swaying in the breeze in front of the first bay, they saw Elton and Darezzo each sitting on a large crate on the loading dock, with a smaller crate between them. Loose change and dollar bills lay atop the center crate.

  “What are you guys up to?” Scotty said.

  “A little dice,” Darezzo said. “Wanna play?”

  “What’s this stuff you’re sitting on?” Scotty said. “Those cutouts just come in?”

  Elton tossed the dice and pumped his fist when they landed on seven. “Williams, you’re a genius,” he said. “How could the department ever function without you?”

  “Funny,” Scotty said. “Now let’s put this stuff away before the trucks start coming.”

  “No need to,” Darezzo said. “Our little brown-noser will do it for us. Ain’t that right Bugsy? We can play dice all day, and Who-You-Blown Amognes will make sure everything goes where it ought to be. Unless Schulke’s gone for the day, of course.”

  “Or has a stuck zipper,” Elton said.

  Elton and Darezzo laughed. Warren hopped onto one of the boxes.

  “You guys are too much,” Claude said without passion.

  “What, you think we didn’t notice?” Elton said. “Doing invoices, helping with other people’s deliveries, punching in early, but don’t get me wrong, Bugsy boy, I think it’s great. Really terrific. Because after all these years, now I’ll get to sit around and do nothing while you do the work. It’s a nice change, I’d say, long overdue. Now seriously, how about getting these cutouts logged in the book and stored on the shelves? Chop chop. Time’s a-wasting.”

  Claude clenched his fists. He slid the knuckles of his right hand from his elbow up under the sleeve of his tee shirt, stretching the cotton as he considered his response.

  “Fuck you,” he said at last. “I’m no brown-noser.”

  “Oh please,” Elton said. “You got your tongue so far up Schulke’s ass you can taste his lunch. What are you doing it for? Feeney’s not going to pick an idiot like you for a supervisor’s job—you can’t even pass the test to be a lineman, let alone know enough to supervise one.”

  “One more fucking word out of you and I’ll break your face,” Claude said, waving a fist. “Go ahead and try me, asshole.”

  “Go ahead and hit me,” Elton said. “Pound away. You’re such a pet, Schulke probably won’t even write you up.”

  Scotty stepped toward Claude, threw his arms around him, and forced him toward the office. “That’s enough,” he said. “You’re not baiting Bugsy into anything he’ll regret. Sorry, not today. Play all the dice you want, knock yourself out, we’ll be in the office.”

  Claude kept an eye on Elton even as Scotty moved him through the office door, watching Darezzo and Elton smile like lottery winners and wave goodbye just before Scotty flipped the door shut with his foot. John saw Scotty push Claude into the office and asked what was going on.

  “A little razz from Darezzo and MacGibbon,” Scotty said.

  “You mean about Bugsy becoming an ass-kisser?” John said.

  Claude wheeled his head around but Scotty still had Claude’s shirt in his hands. Sweat beaded on Claude’s temples, and his cheeks flushed toward red.

  “Just hold it, buddy,” Scotty said to Claude. “Have a seat and cool down, while John goes to unload those cutouts.”

  “I’m not unloading squat,” John said.

  “Yes you are,” Scotty said. “Git.”

  Something in Scotty’s tone produced the desired effect, as John moved toward the loading dock without a word. Although Scotty sat with Claude for the next few minutes, neither spoke. With his fists still clenched, Claude stared at the floor beneath the desk, until Scotty stood up and patted him on the shoulder.

  “Just relax, man,” Scotty said. “Wait here a minute. I�
�ll be right back. Promise me you won’t go anywhere, ok?”

  Claude nodded, then flung his head back, interlocked his fingers behind his neck, and put his feet on the desk. With the bright sun backlighting the dim aisle, Scotty seemed to disappear even before reached the exit, though Claude could make out his featureless form glancing up to the crane parked near the iron ladder on the back wall. When Scotty stepped into the sunlight, he looked to his right, then turned to his left and walked out of sight.

  The door behind Claude opened and someone shuffled in, but Claude didn’t want trouble so he kept his stare at the back exit. A few seconds later Claude heard the person clear his throat, so he looked over his shoulder. It was Schulke.

  “Forgive me for interrupting your moment of solitude,” Schulke said, “but I might remind you we’re in the middle of a workday.”

  Claude snapped his feet off the desk. He stood up. A strange urge came over him, the urge to salute, and although he didn’t, the sensation broke his anger. A smile began to form on his lips.

  “Oh yeah, real funny,” Schulke said. “Everything’s a joke to you, isn’t it? You can sit here with your feet on the desk when there’s work to be done and not give a shit when the boss comes in. You don’t even have to turn around, because even if the boss says something, no matter, the union will protect you, or so you think, because you’re the son of Jackie Amognes, late great president of the UUW. Well let me remind you, Mr. Amognes the Younger, that you have writtens across the board. Call me silly, but I’d think someone in your shoes might put a little effort into his job, might quit lollygagging all the time and actually try to make a contribution to this department. You’d think that, wouldn’t you? But no, it’s been weeks since your performance warning and you haven’t made an ounce of effort to improve. Not one ounce. Well, I’m not going to write you up this time, Claude, but believe me, my patience is wearing thin, and rest assured this is the very last break I intend to give you. The very last one.”