Another week ebbed into memory. The pressure from production demands had left me frustrated and fatigued. Rumors were flying concerning the impending downsizing and morale was at an all time low among my coworkers. It seemed as if I was beyond caring, and had all but resigned myself to another lonely weekend when, as I punched the clock, my supervisor Ned invited me to a “dive” he’d found within a stone’s throw from the security gate. Feeling obligated to my old friend, I accepted his invitation resigned to endure whatever for the sake of our long standing friendship.
Being the lead man in the small production shop for the past three out of the fifteen years that I had worked for Ned, had given me a sense of tainted accomplishment, knowing full well that it was his recommendation that had landed me the position I currently held. Far be it for me to understand his affinity for me other than our tenure that had spanned both my maturation and the crushing divorce of my childhood sweetheart. Always supportive and understanding, he was a true friend worthy of any sacrifice I could offer. As I followed him into the disheveled parking lot however, I began to have some doubts as to the evenings outcome.
The door swung inward with an irritating squeak as if begging for oil. The dusty environment was dimly lit and reeked of cigarettes and cooking grease, and I spied the small portable cooking grill atop the back of the bar. There were no more than ten tables scattered on the creaking wooden floor, most obscured by darkness and haze. Several patrons were scattered among the worn tables muttering nonsensical expletives that were occasionally punctuated by muted laughter. As we were seated at one of the more obscured tables, I noted the walls were embellished with an assortment of paraphernalia that would make a sanitation engineer groan. There were old family photos, and articles of yellowed attire including some stained panties that resembled toxic hazardous waste.
“It’s OK Ben,” my host chuckled as his signaled the aging barmaid for a pitcher of ale; “Actually the burgers are quite good, but more importantly, my wife would fear to tread within these walls.”
“I can understand her feelings Ned,” I returned quietly still in awe of the ambiance. “May I ask what in the hell we’re doing here?”
“Ben,” he stumbled as his face suddenly grew sullen, “It appears as if I’m going to lose over half of the crew due to the recent management decisions, and I needed to talk to someone whom I can trust in confidence.”
My heart leapt to my throat as I wondered if this was where he would let me down easily. What better place, I thought, than a dive that cockroaches shied away from. Filling our chipped mugs from the pitcher that had just arrived, I scarcely noticed the waitress, that shoved the twenty that Ned handed to her into her breast pocket indifferently as she swaggered back to the refuge of the dimly lit bar stool she had occupied prior to our untimely interruption. I braced myself for my unofficial termination notice tersely, as thoughts of the impending financial insecurities danced in my head.
“You’ll probably wind up with a promotion out of this,” Ben offered as he took a long drag of his cigarette and capped it with a sip of warm beer. “How does Ben Kingsman, Production Supervisor sound to you?”
Relieved, yet remorseful, I toyed with my helping of brew and stifled my response. So many of the souls I had come to know personally on a day to day basis would suddenly join the agonizing ranks of the unemployed while I tried to motivate the remaining refugees towards the feigned security upper management would surely attempt to instill.
“What about you Ned,” I queried, almost fearful of the answer.
“I’ve been offered a position upstate at the new plant. Moving Liz and the family is not among my list of desired tasks, but the alternative is not conducive to our financial security. There are still too many years before I can retire, especially with Jenny starting college next fall.”
“Damn,” I offered.
“Yeah.” he returned, and we both became lost in our memories of the good years gone by. A tear trickled down his cheek. Despite the muted sounds around us, the room became silent and removed as we searched for consolation. Moments later, some laborers, mostly middle aged women from the “sweatshop” across the street, began to file in amidst a babble of expletives that stirred Ned and I from our sorrows. A chorus of laughter erupted from one of the groups that had formed around a table nearby, and the chubbiest gals laughter had an almost addictive affect that made us both grin despite ourselves.
The molested waitress reappeared and advised us that if we had any intention of ordering, we better do it now before everyone else gets started. Ned complimented her on her thoughtfulness as he studied the weathered menu. She shrugged it aside and stood impatiently as she studied his suit incredulously. We both went for the grease burger and fries with a warm-up on the beer, perhaps silently hoping a heart attack would put an end to our heavy hearts. She turned on her heel producing a squeak that rivaled a bean taco fart. We laughed, despite ourselves.
As the evening hours quickly slid into nightfall, we nursed our heartburn and dug deep into our reserves to console each other while cursing the inevitable. By the time the second sweatshop shift arrived, Ned and I were both oblivious to much of anything other than the camaraderie that held us together for so many years. As gracefully as a drugged elephant, he excused himself amidst his ever present recommendation for me to get laid. I dismissed him with a playful gesture as he swaggered out the squeaking door, and I silently prayed he would make it home safely.
Surrounded by no names, I felt alone, and silently observed the room the had just recently began a slow cylindrical spin around my seat. The hangover was going to be atrocious. Trying to appear sober, I gazed about the smoky room at the various groups of women as they babbled about their mundane routines and their families latest crises. Ned was right, I felt terribly alone this night, and the thought of driving home depressed me even further. I ordered a cup of strong coffee.
Another group of babbling workers entered and with nary an open table, they curtly asked me to surrender mine. Not wanting to be part of a conversation in which I didn’t belong, I politely excused himself to seek refuge in my coffee at the bar. It wasn’t until after I had stumbled up to the oak stained mantle that I realized all the weathered stools were occupied by the male minority from across the street. Knowing my capacity to drive through the myriad of Friday night lunatics was greatly reduced, I sought a landing site anywhere within the dive that would offer even the slightest hint of tranquility. A song of long ago began to replay it’s somber notes in my memory and I began to hum to myself.
In one of the dark corners, a somber figure sat silently, almost entirely obscured by shadows. As I stumbled over to the two seat table, I interrupted the melody long enough to curse myself for being so short-sighted - a characteristic I rarely displayed. The tired face that looked up at me when I arrived almost made me turn back to the bar. Yet there was a silent desperation in her deep brown eyes that somehow urged me to continue. She wasn’t particularly attractive I mused. But then a full figured middle-aged female laborer posed little threat to my misery, I concluded as I tried to assemble a non-threatening request.
