19281122 03:08:29

19281122 03:08:29

JA-S-9600

Snap the carriage into place, line the pipe into the die, clamp the carriage jaws around the exposed pipe, press the button to drag the tube through the die, catch the tube once it's out of the die, let it drop to the bin, press the other button to send the carriage back. Repeat, repeat, repeat. The redundancy of the job never directly bothered William before; he understood that the job required him to do a single task repeatedly, and that it would provide little in the way of mental stimulation. But after having that Tuesday come and pass, and after resuming the work after this lunch break, the bleak present and future of an ordinary life with an ordinary job such as this hit his mind with a sudden impact. The distinct tinge of heated and pressed metal somehow was more pronounced, even over the cigarette smoke which he breathed in and out. The rhythm of the draw bench carriage sliding towards and away from him, and of the pipes straining through the die and falling to the receptacle, remained echoing in his ears with a more ponderous reverberation. The only way he managed to divert himself from these sensations was to contemplate the lunch break had just returned from, where he got to hear the same banter about children and wives by the other employees. The same banter by men who had been here for ten years, or twenty, or more. They were here, then they went home and drank, then they would see their wives and children sometime in between, and that was it - that was the totality of their existence. There was no aspiration of new heights to be found here. Is that just as well? All these men sought to do was provide a home and support for their family, and working here was their way to do it. Is there any realistic expectation for anything different?

William asked these questions to himself, as one more tube after another fell into the pile and gave a sonorous clang when they landed. Ping. Houses are sold for thousands, businesses earn thousands, the owner of the corporation ears thousands upon thousands, and he and his immediate coworkers endure this same task into the endless future for relative pennies. Ping. He had seen disparity, he had seen the social divide over wealth, and he tried to take matters into his own hands. Ping. When he did it, he felt like he was doing something which fulfilled his need to have an answer for these perceptions. Ping. Those other men on the floor, if they cared about any of this, they did nothing to change it. They essentially deserved their fates. Ping. What if he left, and took his family with him; would things be any different anywhere else? In America of all places? Not likely. Ping. Compared to this, he thought that he felt so much more alive when he did those raids. Ping. It would seem that he would be doing the bidding of a criminal - but it would still be him doing what he had just enjoyed doing the most already. They aren't anarchists, and they have a structure to their work, don't they? Ping.

The emptiness of the factory echoed stronger in his head. The carriage returned to his side and he reflexively reached out to grab it, but had no pipe ready to be drawn and instead simply stood there motionless. Finally, it became too much for him to bear.

William Humeski decided to make the call next Tuesday. He nodded and resumed working, knowing that he would be quitting tomorrow.