After school I would ride my CCM as fast as I could to the Cee Gee Garment Co. to get to work. I was twelve, and my Mom had landed the job for me. She slaved in the sewing room, a frantic place that shook from the sound of sewing machines and flicking fluorescents. I bagged garments in a quiet room nearby, the smell of oiled zippers and cloth with a hint of plastic filling my chest. A wooden paddle stood at attention in front of me, and a huge roll of plastic hung above. The repetition of motion I had to produce lives with me even now, burned forever into my mind. My boss was a small kindly man, with a high lilting voice. He never barked commands, choosing instead soothing tones and mild redirection. I was most grateful for the job, and would do anything to earn my keep. The warehouse boys would burst in from time to time, gruff hard drinking fellows who loaded trucks and smoked cigarettes in the back. The loneliness of my station made these encounters most exciting, and I would chuckle as they sang off- key to the 8 track that cycled over and over each day. “Youve got to, kiss an angel good morning” they would bellow in some version of what I suspect they thought was unison. I worked there for a few years until I bought a 250 Ducati from my oldest brother. My other brother was editor for The Pembina Times, and got a job for me there. It was 7 miles away, and I drove my Ducati summer and winter beside the railway tracks, often working through the night to make a deadline. Its miraculous I survived some of the winter trips, the rail line my only navigation in a winter white out in forty below. All these years later, I realize how these jobs shaped and molded me, how knowing all the people Ive worked with added so much to my own character. I consider myself rather lucky I must say...
Posted on: Mon, 01 Sep 2014 11:19:49 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015