A Summer Job in a Lonely Upstairs Room (Cont.)
Screen 2 of 3

"See," he said proudly, "nothing to it. Just slide the full box on, take the empty box off and stack it over there, and then reach for another full box. But you must never let the track get empty--never, because the machine down there, the one you can see through the hole in the floor, automatically punches a hole in the top of each can as it comes by and immediately squirts milk into it. It does this once every two seconds to the cans riding on that rotating wheel. And of course if there is no can there, the milk is squirted on the floor and wasted. So whatever you do, don't let that happen. If you do, Mr. Edwards will probably fire us both, if it occurs very often.

I was beginning to understand what I was supposed to do, but just to be sure I asked the foreman--he still had not told me his name--to start another box of cans so I could see exactly how he did it.

"Of course," he replied, "but it's very simple. You will have no trouble. Just pick up the full box over here, open the top, and then slide it onto the metal frame from this side just like I'm doing. Then push forward so that the rows of cans in the box will fallout the other end and onto the track. ..." He hesitated for a moment and frowned when the cans did not come out as he had expected. Something was wrong. They seemed to be jammed.

"Oh, I see," he commented. "One of the cans was packed sideways in the box by mistake. That makes it impossible for the cans in that row to fallout and roll down the track like they should. We'll have to straighten them." By this time, he noticed the track was almost empty and in his hurry he knocked several of the cans on the floor. I helped him pick them up but in handling the cans I felt a sticky liquid allover them which burned my fingers. When I mentioned this to the foreman who was still mumbling about "that damned factory that packs these cans," he said, "Yea, I know. I forgot to tell you the cans are packed in some kind of acid--hydrochloric or sulfuric or something like that. This acid is supposed to keep them sterile and sanitary until they are punched, filled with milk, and sealed again. So you will have to wear gloves to protect your hands. If you didn't bring any gloves today, you can use an old pair I have downstairs. Then you can bring yours tomorrow."

At this point, he was interrupted by a loud voice from below. "What the hell is going on up there? Are you having a picnic? The track is empty and milk is squirting allover the floor!"

"Sorry, Joe," the foreman answered through the hole in the floor. "I was just teaching this new boy how to load the rack." He then turned to me and snapped. "Hand me another box so we can get this damn thing going again. That machine operator down there didn't have to holler like that. I knew the track was empty without him telling me. He's just trying to impress the big boss."

As I handed him the next box, I realized my fingers were still burning and beginning to itch and turn red, but I said nothing more about it at the time.

The cans began to roll smoothly now and the foreman seemed pleased.

"What hours do I work and when do I take a break to get a drink of water or go to the toilet?" I asked him as I reached for still another box of cans.

"The working hours for everybody in the plant--except for Mr. Edwards, of course-- are 6:30 to 12 and 12:30 to 5, with half an hour for lunch. You will have to bring your own lunch which you can either eat up here or go outside." As I looked about me again, I felt quite sure I would eat my lunch outside.

"Now about breaks," he continued. "You must not leave this station for any reason unless you can get somebody to take your place while you're gone. Remember what I said about keeping the track filled with cans. It must be kept full all day, except from 12 to 12:30 when everything is shut down for lunch."

"But where and how do I get someone to take my place when I have to go to the toilet?" I asked in some amazement. "There are times when I'll just have to go, you know."

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