August 2018 – Page 5 – Aremyfeetofftheground

Our Place

In the summer of 1969, I was 18 years old, and absolutely enthralled with the concept that we, as a species, were actually going to land on the moon.

At that time, my family and I were vacationing at a rented cottage on a lake in the middle of the bush, and, through the noise and static of our weak television signal, we sat huddled and watched with fascination as the event unfolded.

Since then, and to this day, the question of our place in the cosmos has always been with me. Some think we are alone, and view with ridicule the concept that there may be other civilizations out there. I think there must be more than just ourselves, since our own sun is but one of billions of stars in the observable universe.

We are only beginning to reach out, and things more strange than even the wildest science fiction will one day be revealed. I’ll not be alive when this happens, but I hope to last long enough to see us explore Mars.

Religion and Science, ever at odds with each other, are, perhaps unwittingly, travelling divergent paths that will intersect when we find that there is, indeed, a Creator. There has to be. Look at the wonder around us.

My soul aches to know this Answer. I have been comforted in some of life’s worst moments by an encompassing spirit not of my own kin. That is why I believe there’s a force that guides us and wants us to be the best we can be.

Number seventeen dream scene

My God, I am back.
I am taken here, I am shown.
Familiar, this old warehouse,
that I knew, that I ran,
those thirteen years.
The night man is sick.
I do the shutdown, the lockup,
the securing of the place.
A half mile walk.
Brown bats the only company.
There’s a troubling thrum to the scene,
like the billowing of a black heart.
I step out into the blowing snow,
checking the perimeter.
I round the southern corner,
and recoil at the sight of a chasm by Dock One.
Longer than an eighteen wheeler, and bottomless
in the sulfur-lit snow showers.
I am drawn and repulsed, all at once.
In these depths lies my life’s greatest fear,
but I must come to know its face.
I see, sitting on the dock in the orange glow,
a boy with a fishing rod.
He moves not, and I see that he is bronze.
At a loss, I study his meaning.
Out of a powdery drift steps a Clown
and straddles his back.
He cracks a whip, and screams with glee.
I make the leap,
and now I know.

Bardic Reply

Simon H. Lilly writes of “this glory, this defeat, this wonder,” which is of course about art and its bewildering meanings…or not.
(Robert Okaji’s description of this verse by Simon Lilly)

simonhlilly

BARDIC REPLY

Our art is not about sanity.
You, who have learned neither name nor edge,
Who insist there is one word, one view, one meaning.
You can know nothing of this glory, this defeat, this wonder.
Whose life must be pleasant above all things,
despite death and all its monsters, despite the shadows, the whispers.
Trained neither to remember nor forget, muddling through.
Oh the mirrors are sharp and they are fine, but they lie.
That is never your face that looks out -just a trick we
Have become accustomed to, knowing no better.
Staring into dark pools hypnotised, dissassociated, becoming
Numb, drained of decisions, drained of moments,
the buzzing of summer flies, the click of electrical circuits.

—

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At the office

Up until May of 1980, I had worked in a series of warehouses and factories, my duties consisting of gopher, grunt worker, shipper, machine operator, and clerk. The last couple of years in that stretch was with a large retailer, and, in their warehouse, I tried to advance my prospects by training myself to operate some of their motorized equipment such as forklifts and small electric tow trucks that pulled long lines of trailers laden with furniture.

I loved this work and was thrilled that they let me do it, once they saw that I was a natural. In those days, training and licensing requirements weren’t as they are now, and, if your boss saw that you were going to be an advantage, then you were “in”. I made some good friends there, including an old Lithuanian gentleman whom I will never forget. Sadly, this particular wing of the company was eventually closed up, and we were all out of jobs.

We had had enough notice to allow us to look for work, pending the actual closure, and I happened to spot a newspaper ad that began with block letters “FORKLIFT OPERATORS WITH A DIFFERENCE!” It was touting the arrival of a new company (yes, another warehouse) and promising immediate hires to successful applicants. You had to reply to a post office box, so I sat myself down and wrote something of a cover letter in fountain pen if you can believe it. No computers at that time and I did not have a typewriter, so I thought this would be a way to stand out amongst the mail I expected them to get. I got called for the interview, and the first thing my future boss said was “You know, I kind of pulled this one out of the pile because of the way it was written.” His first question, which took me by surprise, was “We are looking for a foreman. What would you think of filling that role?” It made me a little uncomfortable, but I responded by saying “I’m sure I could do it if allowed to grow into the job. I am not one who could go around barking out orders to people.”

And so, I was hired, to be the supervisor of two youngsters that had been there for a couple of months and thought they knew everything there was to know about the business. They certainly knew more than I did, at the outset, and were blatantly rebellious to have anyone disturbing their daily routine. I was still wet behind the ears at this kind of thing, and let it go on longer than it should have, but, eventually tried to lead by example, bringing in some new ideas and innovations, gaining a little grudging acceptance, if not respect. They still looked upon me, however, as a straw boss, and thought they could get away with murder.

The older of the two was particularly upset because he had been passed over for the job for which I had been hired. With the strain of increasingly busy daily operations and a Mutiny on the Bounty situation developing with my huge crew of two, I thought I had better do something, and asked for a meeting with the regional manager, my boss Fred. I wanted to establish whether they were going to give me any actual authority over personnel, and of the way daily operations were to be run. Bear in mind that this was a new company, and many of us, including the bosses, were greenhorns in some respect.

The meeting with Fred was a vote of confidence I did not necessarily expect, and its success was due partly to two things, I think: Management was eager to get the day-to-day operations out of their hair, and, because of some the improvements that had come about, even during an obvious increase in business, I was seen as being worth the risk of shouldering additional responsibilities. Within a couple of days, I was informed, through Fred, that the hiring, discipline, and termination of staff was now my responsibility, as well as the design and layout of warehouse operations. I left his office with a light step, having secured what I needed, along with a new title and a raise.
Self-doubt was nagging at me nonetheless, and this unexpected event had left me overwhelmed.

Immediately, I was given the go-ahead to hire more staff and had to learn how to be the personnel officer, trainer-in-chief, and disciplinarian. The hats were beginning to multiply. Time went on, along with with more of the hats…approval of accounts payable, directing transportation logistics, sourcing of equipment, business flights to other company locations and suppliers.

My first foray into a serious personnel matter came when the disgruntled co-worker, whom I have mentioned earlier, had an incident involving horseplay on company equipment, and disrespect of a fellow employee. I challenged him, brought him into my office, and said I was sending him home for the day. He said “Why don’t you just fire me?”, so I did. This is never pleasant, but, in this case, it was necessary, to show what would and would not be tolerated, and also that I would actually do the deed. There were other occasions where I needed to make these decisions, and I have had grown men cry in my office. Not the best feeling to take home with you.

Through the thirteen years that I was there, we moved our business to two successively larger locations, and our staff and equipment grew accordingly. It was necessary to go to two shifts, for which I had to appoint lead hands, both of which are still with the company 25 years later, and one of whom took over my job.

I had many people through my office, some hired from all different nationalities, including one who we found out was working under an assumed name, being an illegal immigrant who was waiting on papers. He came to me himself with this information, so we went to bat for him, and he eventually got his social insurance number, was able to use his real name, and stayed on with us. By this time, we had a staff of 40. Being so busy with paperwork, phone calls, and all else, I was moved to the front office and was now in a suit and tie.

This was a new world, although I knew each of the people. I got to know the relationships and dynamics of the place and grew to have a special affection for some of those people. There was Dorothy, who became known, unkindly, as Dorothy from OZ, because of her quirky personality. I went along with the joke until she asked me for a private meeting, during which she wept and told me she was Manic Depressive and didn’t know what to do. She hugged me, and I learned to treat her with more respect after that. She liked my whistling, and secretly tape-recorded it.

There was Yvonne, our Regional Secretary, who kept office affairs running smoothly. She had a great sense of humour, but was all business when it was needed. We had something of a friendship that extended beyond our careers. Between the two of us, we managed to convince our boss that an extra person was needed in the office to help with some of the paperwork and personnel matters that were becoming too much for us to handle, and so Baljit was hired. She proved to be a great help to us and, as she grew into her position, she was given more responsibilities. Baljit eventually outlasted me and many others, I think.

There was Jane, who, by all accounts, was a bona fide Witch, being of the Wiccan persuasion. She had a particular distaste for Bob, one of our salesmen, who would utter sarcastic barbs to her whenever he had the chance. One December, he said “So, what are you doing for Christmas, Jane? Having a Sacrifice?” The look in her eyes was frightening, and she made some sort of sign at him.

There was Janine, an older woman with whom I got along very well. I fixed her car one day in the parking lot, and found a note on my desk saying “thank you for doing this, and for your grace”. I still have it.
There was Richard, one of our sales managers. Whenever I saw him in the office, he appeared to be alternately looking off into space or gazing into a crystal paperweight that he rotated in front of his face. He was gone in due course.
There was my boss, Fred, who I think was having difficulties in his position as Regional Manager. Many times, he would come out in the warehouse and show people how to sweep the floors, for example, and pick away at some trivial thing one of the employees was doing. He had decided to move me to the office, and he was worried that he would have to answer for it.

There was Beatrice, the office clerk, a woman who was in her mid 40’s and was an alcoholic. I was a little afraid of her. Her eyes were like a shark’s, the soul very far away.
There was a girl named Lee. She had the most beautiful and quirky handwriting I have ever seen. It looked like a foreign language until you paid attention. She was a fashion rebel, and, since those days, I swear she was a trendsetter.

And then, there was Joan, a capable and pleasant woman who was Head Office representative at our location. She technically worked for them, but still just had the title of secretary. She was sharply aware of the glass ceiling between the sexes and felt she was unrecognized for her contributions. We heard, through our connected grapevine, that she had asked for, and was granted, an audience with the company President, during which she itemized all of her responsibilities, and had the guts to demand appropriate compensation and title. When he refused, she lifted up her skirt to expose a strapped-on item, obviously of the male variety, and said: “Now will you hire me?” It was not long before she left the company “voluntarily”.

My turn finally came after a period of serious inventory problems, for which I had not found a solution, and a spate of accidents involving property and equipment damage. A month after my 13th anniversary, I was let go.

This I will always think of as my “career”, although afterward, I held two more jobs totaling 23 years. Proud that I started with a company at ground zero and helped to bring it forward. Not so proud of my failings. Blessed for meeting many of the people, some of whom I remember with love to this day.

True story.

Workplace folly

I’ve worked in a number of places that have had trade unions, and I know the unions have their purpose and are responsible for many of the advances and benefits that employees enjoy. I have been on strike several times, against different companies, am familiar with grievance procedures, have been on joint committees and have attended many union meetings. I’ve also been a supervisor in non union shops, and so I feel that I understand something of employee-management relations.

Much depends, of course, upon the people in authority, in the company and in the union, and the philosophy of each of these entities. I spent 13 years as a warehouse employee in a manufacturing plant that was unionized from the get go. The last six were in a solitary job as Storekeeper for parts and supplies within the plant. The store room was kept locked, and I handed out parts from a window to the general warehouse staff. Maintenance personnel and supervisors had keys, and were permitted to come in and sign out their own parts.

During my tenure there, I was witness to things that, by any yardstick, would be considered to be gross misconduct, if not criminal acts, that went almost unpunished. Machine sabotage, sleeping on the job, assaults, the concealment of substandard product, and theft. These were the acts of some of the unionized employees with whom I worked.

The company, for their part, were inconsistent in their disciplinary practices. Many of the worst offenders, after exhausting the grievance process, were let off with a warning when it became clear that their cases would go to costly mediation or legal proceedings. Some people who had committed lesser offences and were perhaps viewed as more co-operative, were given stiffer penalties because of the perception that they would not raise as much of a fuss. Result: poor morale, and disrespect for company policy.

I never informed on anyone directly, unless it involved the safety of others, and then I would talk to the offender personally before going to anyone else. That is, until I became storekeeper and was made responsible for the factory’s parts inventory. We had to count the stockroom regularly, and, if there were any large variances, then it was on me.
The store room was only manned for 8 hours out of 24, and the rest of the time it was accessible to those who had keys. Missing stock became more and more of a problem, and so it was obvious that it was either being taken and used legitimately and not signed out, or was being stolen.

When the problem had worsened considerably, I sent an email to the company controller, with whom I had a reasonably good relationship. In it, I blamed either non-compliance with procedure or outright theft for the missing product. She became concerned, and responded positively to the email, and apparently then had a meeting with the union president about it. The next day, she did an about-face and basically said that, as there was no proof of these inflammatory accusations, I would just have to be more vigilant and develop better systems to prevent further loss. A week later, I received a registered letter from the union, stating that unless I withdrew the note I had sent, that I would be thrown out of the union, and, in essence, would be without a job.

I knew absolutely that there was theft going on, because I would count particularly valuable items, such as batteries, each and every day. They went missing much more quickly than anything else. I consulted with my lawyer, who said, in a nutshell, that the toothpaste was already out of the tube and I could not put it back in, so I might as well do some sort of a retraction and get on with life. So, I drafted a letter apologizing for offending anyone, with the explanation that it was done out of frustration for not being able to do my job properly. I fully expected this to be posted publicly by the union, but that did not happen. I was never officially informed of any excommunication, and stayed on in the job, with reduced enthusiasm and morale, until the next contract talks came around, and a strike was looming.

I will say that, of all the strikes I have participated in with various companies, most have been unprofitable and divisive for both parties. Sometimes, we were off the job for weeks or months, in the middle of winter, receiving a pittance in strike pay, and wound up coming back to work for less than we had been offered at the start. This, together with the lost time and hardships, would take months, or longer, to make up. In the job of which I speak, the company of course knew well in advance that a strike was likely, and proceeded to build up a “bank” of stock that they estimated would be enough to ride it out. This was accomplished with the co-operation of union members who wanted the extra overtime, for the same reasons. We were cutting our own throats.

I had many good relationships with both unionized and management employees within these companies, but the negative experiences have given me a jaundiced view of industrial relations, at least the ones within my experience.