The Dirty Job (1000 words)
May. 3rd, 2011 04:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hwrnmnbsolSorry about the preachiness. Back to stories.
Tommy hopped back on the back of the mottled green-and-gray garbage rig. “Okay, so I’m slow,” he said. “Explain it to me again.”
“What part?” asked Ritchie, hanging onto the cleat on the other back corner of the truck. “I ain’t gonna go all through collective bargaining all over again.”
“I don’t need to hear all that,” said Tommy. The truck lurched back into motion, rolling down to the next townhouse on the block. “I just wanna know why my paycheck is gonna be smaller next month. I mean that’s total bullshit.” The brakes hissed as the truck pulled over to the right-hand curb. Mister Santorini was standing next to his overflowing trashcan; he was wearing a housecoat and slippers.
Ritchie jumped off the truck. “It’s ‘cause our health insurance is changing up,” he replied, seizing the handle of the garbage can and tipping it back on its rear wheels. “Hey there, Mister Santorini, how you doin’?”
“I could be better, boys,” grumbled Mister Santorini. “Last time you picked up, you dumped half my can all over the sidewalk.”
“Hey, sorry about that, Mister Santorini,” said Tommy, exchanging a glance with Ritchie. Ritchie rolled his eyes so Mister Santorini couldn’t see. He and Tommy lifted the can onto the elevator hooks.
“Yeah, well, see it don’t happen no more. I don’t wanna sweep up after you guys.” The rest of his griping was drowned out by Ritchie pulling the plastic-covered handle that ran the elevator. With a grinding sound the elevator ticked upwards, bringing the can with it, and tipped it into the top of the truck. Ritchie reversed it a few times to bang the can clean, and then brought it back down, tick tick tick tick, to street level.
“And another thing,” said Mister Santorini.
“Hey, we gotta keep goin’, Mister Santorini,” said Tommy, pulling the empty can off the hooks and rolling it back up to the curb. “We’ll catch the rest next Tuesday, yeah?” Mister Santorini made a kind of disgusted noise and, shuffling in his house-shoes, began rolling his can back up his walk.
“Old jackass,” muttered Tommy. “So, insurance?”
“Yeah,” said Ritchie, grabbing his cleat and waving for Jose to move on. The truck pulled away from the curb. Ritchie had to shout over the roar of the engine.
“They jacked the rates for us guys who has a wife and kids,” he told Tommy. “It’s not that the total rates has gone up; it’s just that the money that the City kicks in has been split up all different, right?” The truck pulled left this time, towards the curb and the Prito townhouse.
“So, what: Jose has no kids, so he gets the same check, but I get fifty bucks less?” said Tommy sourly. “How does that make sense?”
“I didn’t say that made no sense!” Ritchie jumped down and surveyed the damage. The Pritos had a regular can and a little one. The little one was full of diapers. “Christ,” he said, lifting a handle of the diaper can to feel its weight. “You get this one this time.”
“All right, sheesh,” grumbled Tommy, picking up the smaller can and bringing it around to the side port. Ritchie hooked the big can to the elevator.
“No, of course it ain’t right,” shouted Ritchie as he raised the can up to dump it. “But the City’s stuck for money, and they’re looking for every corner they can cut.”
Tommy grunted as he lifted the can manually and dumped it through the side chute. “Jesus, are they raising a herd of babies in there? What are they feeding ‘em, rocks?” He knocked the can on the side of the port and returned it to the curb. “Yeah, but how come we can’t get the union to gripe about this?”
“The union,” snorted Ritchie with feeling. “Those guys got no stroke no more, Tommy.” He rolled the other can back up and jumped back on the truck. “I don’t even know why we bother payin’ dues. What they done for us lately, huh?” Jose pulled forward again. They were almost to the end of the block.
“Well, it just isn’t fair,” said Tommy. “It’s not like I got extra money.”
Ritchie dumped the public can at the corner, then waved at Jose. Looking through his rear view mirror, Jose waved back. Nodding, Ritchie went to the big lever on the back of the truck. It said ‘ENTROPY’ above it in fading yellow levers. Ritchie pulled the lever, which was pointing to ‘S-‘, and heaved on it until it flipped over to the other side, which read ‘S+’. The neighborhood shimmered and blurred, then resolved itself. It was still a row of townhouses, but it was subtly different. Ritchie and Tommy climbed aboard again, and Jose pulled onto the next block.
“Listen, kid,” said Ritchie. “You gotta get used to this stuff. This kinda crap always hits us guys what work the dirty jobs.”
“That’s crazy,” replied Tommy, as the truck pulled up to the Mnormm house. Meeza Mnormm was standing next to an empty can with an open lid, wearing her night-clogs and smoking a black stogarette. She waved, and Tommy waved back. “I mean, our job is real important. How come we get crapped on?”
“I dunno,” said Ritchie. He swung the boom on the truck around such that the discharge tube hung over the can. Then Tommy pulled the release lever, and garbage began to cascade into Meeza Mnormm’s can. Broken bottles, trash bags, and a few of the Prito diaper bundles rained down into the can. Tommy closed the lever when it was three-quarters full, which didn’t make Meeza Mnormm happy. But she put the lid back on the can and wheeled it up the walk as the truck pulled away.
“The more important the job, the dirtier it is,” said Ritchie. “There’s honor in that kind of work. My dad always told me that.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” said Tommy doubtfully.
Tommy hopped back on the back of the mottled green-and-gray garbage rig. “Okay, so I’m slow,” he said. “Explain it to me again.”
“What part?” asked Ritchie, hanging onto the cleat on the other back corner of the truck. “I ain’t gonna go all through collective bargaining all over again.”
“I don’t need to hear all that,” said Tommy. The truck lurched back into motion, rolling down to the next townhouse on the block. “I just wanna know why my paycheck is gonna be smaller next month. I mean that’s total bullshit.” The brakes hissed as the truck pulled over to the right-hand curb. Mister Santorini was standing next to his overflowing trashcan; he was wearing a housecoat and slippers.
Ritchie jumped off the truck. “It’s ‘cause our health insurance is changing up,” he replied, seizing the handle of the garbage can and tipping it back on its rear wheels. “Hey there, Mister Santorini, how you doin’?”
“I could be better, boys,” grumbled Mister Santorini. “Last time you picked up, you dumped half my can all over the sidewalk.”
“Hey, sorry about that, Mister Santorini,” said Tommy, exchanging a glance with Ritchie. Ritchie rolled his eyes so Mister Santorini couldn’t see. He and Tommy lifted the can onto the elevator hooks.
“Yeah, well, see it don’t happen no more. I don’t wanna sweep up after you guys.” The rest of his griping was drowned out by Ritchie pulling the plastic-covered handle that ran the elevator. With a grinding sound the elevator ticked upwards, bringing the can with it, and tipped it into the top of the truck. Ritchie reversed it a few times to bang the can clean, and then brought it back down, tick tick tick tick, to street level.
“And another thing,” said Mister Santorini.
“Hey, we gotta keep goin’, Mister Santorini,” said Tommy, pulling the empty can off the hooks and rolling it back up to the curb. “We’ll catch the rest next Tuesday, yeah?” Mister Santorini made a kind of disgusted noise and, shuffling in his house-shoes, began rolling his can back up his walk.
“Old jackass,” muttered Tommy. “So, insurance?”
“Yeah,” said Ritchie, grabbing his cleat and waving for Jose to move on. The truck pulled away from the curb. Ritchie had to shout over the roar of the engine.
“They jacked the rates for us guys who has a wife and kids,” he told Tommy. “It’s not that the total rates has gone up; it’s just that the money that the City kicks in has been split up all different, right?” The truck pulled left this time, towards the curb and the Prito townhouse.
“So, what: Jose has no kids, so he gets the same check, but I get fifty bucks less?” said Tommy sourly. “How does that make sense?”
“I didn’t say that made no sense!” Ritchie jumped down and surveyed the damage. The Pritos had a regular can and a little one. The little one was full of diapers. “Christ,” he said, lifting a handle of the diaper can to feel its weight. “You get this one this time.”
“All right, sheesh,” grumbled Tommy, picking up the smaller can and bringing it around to the side port. Ritchie hooked the big can to the elevator.
“No, of course it ain’t right,” shouted Ritchie as he raised the can up to dump it. “But the City’s stuck for money, and they’re looking for every corner they can cut.”
Tommy grunted as he lifted the can manually and dumped it through the side chute. “Jesus, are they raising a herd of babies in there? What are they feeding ‘em, rocks?” He knocked the can on the side of the port and returned it to the curb. “Yeah, but how come we can’t get the union to gripe about this?”
“The union,” snorted Ritchie with feeling. “Those guys got no stroke no more, Tommy.” He rolled the other can back up and jumped back on the truck. “I don’t even know why we bother payin’ dues. What they done for us lately, huh?” Jose pulled forward again. They were almost to the end of the block.
“Well, it just isn’t fair,” said Tommy. “It’s not like I got extra money.”
Ritchie dumped the public can at the corner, then waved at Jose. Looking through his rear view mirror, Jose waved back. Nodding, Ritchie went to the big lever on the back of the truck. It said ‘ENTROPY’ above it in fading yellow levers. Ritchie pulled the lever, which was pointing to ‘S-‘, and heaved on it until it flipped over to the other side, which read ‘S+’. The neighborhood shimmered and blurred, then resolved itself. It was still a row of townhouses, but it was subtly different. Ritchie and Tommy climbed aboard again, and Jose pulled onto the next block.
“Listen, kid,” said Ritchie. “You gotta get used to this stuff. This kinda crap always hits us guys what work the dirty jobs.”
“That’s crazy,” replied Tommy, as the truck pulled up to the Mnormm house. Meeza Mnormm was standing next to an empty can with an open lid, wearing her night-clogs and smoking a black stogarette. She waved, and Tommy waved back. “I mean, our job is real important. How come we get crapped on?”
“I dunno,” said Ritchie. He swung the boom on the truck around such that the discharge tube hung over the can. Then Tommy pulled the release lever, and garbage began to cascade into Meeza Mnormm’s can. Broken bottles, trash bags, and a few of the Prito diaper bundles rained down into the can. Tommy closed the lever when it was three-quarters full, which didn’t make Meeza Mnormm happy. But she put the lid back on the can and wheeled it up the walk as the truck pulled away.
“The more important the job, the dirtier it is,” said Ritchie. “There’s honor in that kind of work. My dad always told me that.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” said Tommy doubtfully.
