A DAY AT ST. VINCENT DE PAUL “GOODWILL” SHOP
Connie decided that since she plays bingo, tosses horse shoes, has a domino party, goes to stage performances and plays golf and bowls, that I needed something to do in MY “spare time”. She volunteered my time to work at St. Vincent De Paul’s clothing warehouse... When I entered the place, I was given a short orientation and found that the guy that founded the place died at age 40 and left many children, not much else. The chief Honcho was a fellow named Pablo. Pablo did not speak English, had hands the size of small hams, outweighed me by fifty pounds and was about 6’6” tall. I decided not to use my Spanish on him mainly because my Spanish consists of dirty words I learned while stationed at Ft. Bliss in El Paso. Wise move on my part. I was also instructed not to insult any of the patrons. Shucks, my favorite pastime is insulting people.
They told me that I had several choices of work. The options were pricing, appliance repair, cash register, and sorting. I told them to just give me the dirtiest job and I would work up from there. They suggested that I work in “men’s pants”. That was OK by me.
When I entered the men’s sorting area I was met by the pants section leader. His nickname was “The Pope”. He didn’t wear a robe or red slippers, but did have a skull cap. I suspect that it was to cover a bald spot. My co-worker in the sorting section was Steve. He had several weeks experience in pants sorting so he was assigned to be my mentor. I was classified as an apprentice sorter. After 2 weeks you are upgraded to master pants sorter. Quick promotions in the pants sorting dept. I was given instructions in how to measure the waist size and inseam length. Tough guidelines there. A special instruction was given on how to check the pockets. It seems that a couple of months ago a woman gave away a pair of mans pants belonging to her husband. The couple came rushing back a day later because he had left his dentures in the pants pocket. No one seemed to know if the teeth were found but there was a poster on the wall warning of such things. A sad but true story. I kept looking for any stray one thousand dollar bills, but did not find any.
I did make an important discovery and was able to share my discovery. It seems that every once in a while a pair of women’s blue jeans gets mixed up with the men’s clothing. I noticed that the woman’s blue jeans had an extremely short zipper whereas the men’s zipper was much longer. I shared this important bit of information with the Pope and Steve. Both seemed appreciative of my astute powers of observation. They both agreed that it should be a part of the normal inspection procedure.
Steve had been an officer in the Army airborne. He told me that he had to quit the Airborne because he split his crotch on a practice jump. I had already noticed that his legs seemed extraordinarily long. He then related the fact about his recent polyp surgery . The Pope came over and told about the broken arm and leg he got in Korea. I told them that I had an active case of VD. But was told that recovery should be complete in just a few more months. Both moved a few feet further away. The Pope said a prayer and the paratrooper grabbed his crotch.
At break time we went down to the coffee shop. Both Steve and The Pope still kept their distance from me. That was strange because I had made every attempt to be friendly. When we got to the break area I noticed The Pope whispered something to one of the women. Probably some Pope Business thing. She got up from the table and moved to the side of the room. Several others did the same thing. All kept an eye on me. I guess it was the animal magnetism that I exclude. At least I had the table to myself.
When it came time to leave, we had to sign out on a log. I asked why since we had already signed in. I was told that about a year ago a woman was so absorbed in clothes sorting she did not know it was time to leave and got locked in the place. She had to use her cell phone to call her husband. He was able to contact the supervisor and get her out.
When signing out I observed the person that signed out after me wiped the pen vigorously with a tissue… Strange. Such was my first day of volunteer work.
The Next day I got there at the appointed time and proceeded to park my car in the rear of the lot as is my custom. I saw a large palletainer of clothes at the rear of the lot. It had a large sign that said:
DANGER (PELEGRO) --- CONTAMINATED MATERIALS.
DO NOT TOUCH OR HANDLE
CONDEMED BY THE COLLIER COUNTY BOARD OF HEALTH
I was a bit surprised because I saw several pairs of colorful pants that I was sure I had seen the day before as I was sorting pants. As I neared the building there was a large new banner over the door that read:
“PEOPLE WITH SOCIAL DISEASES SHOULD NOT VOLENTEER TO WORK AT ST. VINCENT DE PAUL”
I went in anyway, signed in, and proceeded to the “men’s pants” area. Pablo started to follow me muttering something in Spanish. One of the words sounded strangely like one of the dirty words that I learned at Ft. Bliss. Several workers grabbed Pablo. They must have had pressing problems that needed his immediate attention. I noticed people hugging the walls as I passed. Strange, I thought. I have only been here one day and have attracted the attention of everyone. It must be my work ethic. As I entered the “pants” area, “the Pope gave the sign of the cross and bolted out of the door. The ex-paratrooper Yelled “Geronimo”, and leaped out a window. With my suntan I must look like a Native American in need of a spiritual blessing. It was sort of lonely working alone. When I left that day, I noticed that the sign out sheet was gone and the area freshly scrubbed. The break area had not been used that day. It was clean as a pin. By the time I go next time I hope things have settled down and people don’t act so strange.
Well, a week has passed since I last worked at St. Vincent’s. When I got there this afternoon I entered with some trepidation because I had no idea if the natives would be friendly or not. Not to worry, as I entered the door there was another huge banner that proclaimed: DAL HAS BEEN CURED AND IS SAFE TO BE AROUND AS HE IS AGAIN HARMLESS. I was pleased. It was signed by the Collier county Board of Health.
Everyone genuinely seemed glad to see me. As I entered the men’s pants sorting area both the Pope and Steve greeted me warmly. The Pope even gave me my master’s pants sorting certificate. Lucky Steve, he found (4) $20 bills in a pair of pants. (No joke). I will bet it was some poor guy’s poker winnings that he didn’t want his wife to know about. Steve turned it over to the head cashier. I think that I would have treated everyone at the free coffee break. I spent the whole morning sorting out several boxes of very high quality shirts and pants. Some poor guy probably died and his wife got rid of all his clothes. All the pants were 46-29. The guy must have been built like a bowling ball.
I learned several new things today that I am sure will earn me a cluster to wear with my master sorting certificate. If you come across a pair of pants that are so colorful that that you think to yourself, “I wouldn’t be caught dead in that”, they are probably women’s pants. To be sure of the pants gender, check the manufacturing label. If the makers name is “LIZ” or some other non male sounding name, consign them to the “sorting return” area. If you find a pair of walking shorts, gym shorts, or others, without a fly, they ain’t male pants. If you find a HUGE expensive looking pair of shorts that would easily fit a cow and does not have a waist size but is marked “S”, be assured it is a female garment. An expensive looking pair of pants without any waist or inseam length is probably tailor made. One last learning experience was due to a pair of funny shaped pants that looked as though they would fit Pappy Yokum. They had a huge elastic band at the top. One of the women that worked in the ladies clothes section informed me that they were maternity pants. Oh.
I tried to convince the Pope and Steve that they should try to be more efficient by breaking up the sorting routine. Instead of measuring, tagging, getting a hanger from the hanger bin, assembling pants to hanger, and walking each pair to the rack that it was much better to size, tag, and lay the pants to one side. Get a bunch of hangers and toss them on the shelf above the work station. Pull the rack up close to your assembly bench. Then assemble the hanger to the pants, then turn and hang each pair of pants to the rack. The Pope threatened to cast me into hell for breaking Union rules and Steve said he was going to file a grievance with the union steward. I just can’t win.
I went to St. Vincent’s the next day to work at my usual job, pants sorting. Just after starting I was paid a visit by the Chief Honcho, Pablo. He told me that I was being considered for a position in “appliance repair”. He explained that it was a real advancement for someone of my limited time on the pants sorting job but that my diligence had been noticed by “higher ups”. He explained that the position was not a sure thing but that he would put in a good word for me. I strongly suspected that I was being booted upstairs because of the labor dispute and grievance filed by my co-workers last week. A quick peek at the looks on the faces of John and Steve confirmed my suspicion.
I was given a short tour of the appliance repair section and met the fellow that might be my new mentor. His name was Claude. He was 82 years old and told me that he just couldn’t stand for four hours at a time any more. He did not have a chair because as soon as he found a comfortable one some “poor” person bought it. He strongly suspected that it was an effort to force him out by having a “mole” buy any chair that he elected to use. I truly felt sorry for him but glad that I might get such a challenging job. Claude explained the routine of inspection and repair. He showed me the work required on a toaster. First you inserted two pieces of burned bread into the toaster slots. (Only two slices of bread are used per day because the facility is on such a tight budget). The method was as follows: Insert the two pieces of toast. Check to see if the 4 elements get red or possibly just hot. Make sure that the toast pops up after a reasonable time and is at least warm. If the toaster fails any of the above tests, it is repaired by tossing it in the trash.
This Monday was full of disappointments. I had no sooner than arrived at the pants sorting station than I was met by Claude from the appliance department. His eyes were brimming with tears as he recounted his trials this morning. He was let go from the appliance repair and replaced by “young buck” that was only 75 years old. He was downgraded to the receiving dock to unloading clothes. That is pretty heavy work and he is afraid he will have to quit after over 20 years on the job.
More lies later
No comments:
Post a Comment