The mountain of parts finally disappeared around midmorning. I got to stand around the engine, watch what was going on, and hand the guys tools and things. Bill's tools were kept in nice canvas bags, arranged in particular order, and God help you if you mess them up. It turns out that he used to be a mechanic at a high powered diesel engine dealer. I got to hear the story, like it or not, during the many breaks he liked to take. Now that I was finished cleaning all the parts, I was allowed to have a break or two. More if I listened to his bullshit.
Bill said that he had never liked school. With no real post graduation prospects in sight, he left school and went to an apprenticeship program at a big maritime union. He finished and went to sea aboard ships, working in the galley. That didn't suit him. He says there were too many blacks and "others." So he went to work on tugs. That's where he got the diesel engine bug. From there he talked his way into the training program at the big diesel outfit. He learned how to work on big engines and it looks like he's pretty good at it. Then, the big strike happened. They were paying top dollar for scab mechanics to fix the tugs. Bill went for the money and while they were sneaking him down to a boat, the van took a hard turn and Bill was injured. He sued everyone and ended up with a bunch of money. He pretty quickly lost it all on cocaine and booze. Now he's working low level tugboat jobs. But he hasn't had a drink in these last couple of years, so he feels some sense of accomplishment.
Fuck that. I'm having a beer or two. I wonder if I needed to hear all of that.
No comments:
Post a Comment