“I’m a big believer in frankness,” Mr. LaPlante said. “So I’m going to lay it right on the line.”
Nat hadn’t so much as opened his mouth to say a word yet. He hadn’t had time. He had just shaken the man’s hand. Taken a seat in his office as directed. And now this.
Frankness. On the line.
“You wouldn’t even be here if I didn’t owe a lot to Nathan McCann. I like to lay everything on the table, so I’m being honest with you right up front.”
Then he allowed a pause. It took Nat a moment to gather it was his turn to talk.
LaPlante wore his hair parted in the middle, which Nat found amusing. So he tried not to look. Because when he looked, it was hard not to crack a smile. Over LaPlante’s head was a framed poster of a winged cartoon cow. Wearing a halo. Flying over a cartoon cloud.
The silence extended a beat too long.
“Well, I definitely appreciate your honesty,” Nat said. Hoping it didn’t sound like a lie. Because it was.
“Generally, I figure I can tell a lot about a prospective employee from his background. They say the past is the best predictor of the future. But I have a great deal of respect for Nathan McCann, and he asked me to give you a chance. And I would give that man just about anything he asked of me. Within reason. But there’s going to be something of a trial period for you. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying I’ve made up my mind that you won’t make it here. We’re not set against you. Nobody’s going to judge you unfairly, and if they do they’ll answer to me. You’ll get the same shot as anybody gets. I guess what I’m saying is, you’ll get one shot. Is that acceptable to you?”
“Yes, sir. It is. Absolutely. I appreciate the shot. When do you want me to start work?”
“I’ll take you out on the loading dock and you can start right now.”
“Now?” Nat asked, reminding himself to close his mouth afterward.
“Someplace you’d rather be?”
“Um. No. No, sir. Now is fine. Now is perfect.”
? ? ?
Nat stood on the loading dock, staring at stack after stack of wooden crates, each containing sixteen milk bottles. Awaiting further instructions.
The foreman, an old but muscular guy named Mr. Merino, came around and clapped him on the back. Then he set a printed form on top of the stack right in front of Nat’s belt.
“LaPlante wants you to fill this out.”
“What is it?”
“Instructions for withholding. You know, from your paycheck.”
“I can’t fill that out here.”
“Why the hell can’t you?”
“Because I promised Nathan McCann I’d bring it home and get his advice on it first.”
“I’ll have to see what LaPlante thinks about that.”
“He’ll think it’s fine. Because Nathan McCann said so.”
“OK. Well, I’ll just double-check that.”
“Yes, sir. That’s fine. Should I be doing something while I’m waiting?”
“Yeah. I’d say so. I’d say you should be picking up those crates that are right under your nose. And loading them into that truck. That’s also right under your nose.”
“OK. I just thought maybe there would be instructions.”
Merino stood with hands on hips, his chin raised high. As if to be taller while looking down on the new guy. The one with the huge black mark against him. “You’re unclear on how to pick things up and then put them down again?”
“No, sir. I’m not. Not at all. I can handle that. I’ll just get started.”
“Glad to hear it,” Merino said. And turned his back to walk away.
“Mr. Merino? What time is quitting?”
Merino whirled back. “Excuse me?”
“Did I say something wrong?”
“You haven’t so much as lifted your first crate, and you already want to know what time you can stop?”
“I didn’t mean it like that. Not at all. Just that it’s a weird work day, you know. Not a regular one. Because I started late. And I just have to take the bus home, is all. And I just wanted to be sure it wouldn’t be after the buses stopped running.”
Merino continued to eye him harshly. “Bus runs till ten at night.”
“No problem, then,” Nat said. With a little salute.
He lifted a crate. It was surprising how heavy sixteen quart bottles of milk in a wooden crate could be.
? ? ?
Merino came back around about ten crates later.
“Boss says you can quit at five today. Tomorrow — and every weekday after — get here by six in the morning. And get off at three.”
“Yes, sir.”
“He also said if Nathan McCann told you to take that W-4 form home with you, then you take it home.”
“Yes, sir. That’s what I figured he would say.”
“Is that a smart-ass comment?”
“No, sir. Not at all. No disrespect intended at all.”
? ? ?
By the time he got to Little Manny’s one-room apartment, it was after six.
He was out of breath from running all the way from the bus stop. The muscles in his lower back and between his shoulder blades had locked into painful spasms. His biceps ached and stung from lifting those heavy crates all day long.
And tomorrow he’d have to start all over again. Six A.M. Six in the morning till three in the afternoon. Imagine how his back and arms would feel by quitting time tomorrow.
He knocked, hearing the dull drone of a Gilligan’s Island episode from behind the door. Nothing else. No movement. No answer to his knock.
Well, he’d get used to it. He’d get in shape to do the work. Maybe it would even help him in his training. That is, if he still even had an offer of training.
He knocked again.
Little Manny opened the door. His hair looked wildly disheveled, as if he had been asleep. The smell of stale tobacco smoke practically slammed into Nat’s face, making him cough.
“You stood me up, kid.” His voice sounded gravelly with sleep.
“I know. I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it.”
“I thought you wanted this more than anything.”
“I do. I do want it more than anything.”
“Nope, you just showed me you don’t. Obviously you don’t. Obviously whatever you were doing all day, you want more.”
“I have to work. I don’t have any choice. I have to hold down a job to live where I’m living. I need a roof over my head. I’m off on the weekends. Couldn’t I just come over on the weekends?”
“Weekends? I kind of like to keep my weekends free.”
“For what?” Nat asked. And then prayed it hadn’t sounded as rude to Little Manny as it had to him.
Long silence.
“Well, that’s a point, I guess. OK. Saturday morning.” And he slammed the door shut again.
? ? ?
Nat ran all the way home. Trying to think of a good excuse for being so late.