engjoneer
Stetson
Thirty-two years he worked the line. Good job, good benefits, retirement plan. Figured he’d put in his thirty, retire, spend his days fishing. Didn’t work out that way.
He’d kept his head down and his back straight. Paced himself, but never slacked off. Paid his dues, didn’t complain. Did the job. Saw the older guys on the line fade away or retire. Made foreman and ran the line. Became an older guy his ownself. Did his thirty, but the economy was in the shithouse, so decided to put in another five. Got laid off. Temporary, they said. Then the line shut down and the factory moved to Guatemala. Thirty-two years he’d given them. Only took them two weeks to close shop and leave the country.
Most of that first summer he fished. Put off filing for unemployment long as he could. Got approved for food stamps, but was too ashamed to use them. Still gets up at 5:30 every morning. Heads down to the diner for coffee. Keeps his head up, but his back is bent. Hopes he doesn’t get sick. Just doesn’t understand what went wrong.
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