Rivethead - Ben Hamper [103]
We hugged each other and laughed. It was like being paid to flunk high school.
When it came time to fill the vacancies left behind by Jerry and Janice, we got lucky. Henry Jackson, always in a mad quest to break up the chemistry of the Rivet Line by importing snitches and milksops, bungled the opportunity and sent us down a pair of jokers who fit right in.
Jerry's replacement was a small black guy named Jehan. He came to us with excellent credentials. For the past several weeks, Jehan had been on this dogged mission to keep the line down. He worked one of the rail-pull jobs at the start of the line situated right beneath one of the stop buttons. Whenever the mood struck, Jehan would reach above his head and smack the button. He'd keep the line down until the supervisors started closing in. You had to admire that kind of suicidal derring-do. When Jehan was finally busted, Henry sent him down to our area away from any stop buttons.
The guy who took Janice's job was a big German hulk named Paul Schobel. He'd arrived with the latest batch of refugees from the closed plants in Saginaw. He was absolutely ecstatic about his placement on the Rivet Line. Paul's last job for GM had been working in a foundry, which was a lot like being sentenced to work in Satan's private bakery. He was glad to be here and we were glad to have him, especially me. I had plans for Mr. Schobel. I was baking something too.
I watched in wonder as Paul quickly pulverized his new job into a brief nuisance. He steamrolled through the entire event. The cross members looked like twigs in his arms. The rivet gun became his bitch. He choked its neck like a dead flamingo. It was all so beautiful. The guy was a plowhorse. After all those years in the foundry, the cross members and rivet guns must have seemed like birdies and badminton.
As I watched Paul tromp through the motions, lights flashed in my head. The strategy I had been cookin’ up moved straight for the front burner. My mind began chanting restlessly: “It is time to double-up…time to double-up.” It was all spread out in front of me. That golden loophole, that glorious lifeboat, the ultimate clock-killer, autonomy for two. It would be a cinch. Paul with the brawn, I with the blueprint.
One night I invited Paul out to my Camaro. It was time to run this thing by him. We drank a couple of forty-ouncers and began to discuss details. “Paul, after lunch I want you to cover my job.”
“Do your job? Who the hell is gonna do mine?”
“I will. It's important that you learn my routine, especially the sidewinder gun. It's a bit stubborn at first, but I have no doubt you'll be able to tame it.”
Paul looked at me perplexed. “What in the fuck is this all about, Hamper?”
“It's all about freedom, you fat kraut. We combine our two jobs into one setup. When I'm handling the setup, you can get lost. The same goes for me when you're up. Think about it, Paul. It sure beats sittin’ round all night crucified to the time clock.”
It took about three hours for Paul to conquer my job. He had little trouble with the sidewinder gun or, for that matter, anything else. If some portion of the job played nasty, Paul just sucked in his gut, let out a growl and bullied the issue into quick submission. The horizon was wide open.
However, there were a few details we had to tend to before unveiling our system. First, we had to take into account all the cross members Paul was required to build each shift. There was no way either of us could keep up with the line if we had stock to build. We agreed that we would have to build up the required amount of cross members before we could begin doubling jobs. This meant getting to the plant extra early and bangin’ them out ahead