Welcome to the Monkey House - Kurt Vonnegut [91]
(1962)
DEER IN THE WORKS
THE BIG BLACK STACKS of the Ilium Works of the Federal Apparatus Corporation spewed acid fumes and soot over the hundreds of men and women who were lined up before the redbrick employment office. It was summer. The Ilium Works, already the second-largest industrial plant in America, was increasing its staff by one third in order to meet armament contracts. Every ten minutes or so, a company policeman opened the employment-office door, letting out a chilly gust from the air-conditioned interior and admitting three more applicants.
"Next three," said the policeman.
A middle-sized man in his late twenties, his young face camouflaged with a mustache and spectacles, was admitted after a four-hour wait. His spirits and the new suit he’d bought for the occasion were wilted by the fumes and the August sun, and he’d given up lunch in order to keep his place in line. But his bearing remained jaunty. He was the last, in his group of three, to face the receptionist.
"Screw-machine operator, ma’am," said the first man.
"See Mr. Cormody in booth seven," said the receptionist.
"Plastic extrusion, miss," said the next man.
"See Mr. Hoyt in booth two," she said. "Skill?" she asked the urbane young man in the wilted suit. "Milling machine? Jig borer?"
"Writing," he said. "Any kind of writing."
"You mean advertising and sales promotion?"
"Yes—that’s what I mean."
She looked doubtful. "Well, I don’t know. We didn’t put out a call for that sort of people. You can’t run a machine, can you?"
"Typewriter," he said jokingly.
The receptionist was a sober young woman. "The company does not use male stenographers," she said. "See Mr. Dilling in booth twenty-six. He just might know of some advertising-and-sales-promotion-type job."
He straightened his tie and coat, forced a smile that implied he was looking into jobs at the Works as sort of a lark. He walked into booth twenty-six and extended his hand to Mr. Dilling, a man of his own age. "Mr. Dilling, my name is David Potter. I was curious to know what openings you might have in advertising and sales promotion, and thought I’d drop in for a talk. "
Mr. Dilling, an old hand at facing young men who tried to hide their eagerness for a job, was polite but outwardly unimpressed. "Well, you came at a bad time, I’m afraid, Mr. Potter. The competition for that kind of job is pretty stiff, as you perhaps know, and there isn’t much of anything open just now."
David nodded. "I see." He had had no experience in asking for a job with a big organization, and Mr. Dilling was making him aware of what a fine art it was—if you couldn’t run a machine. A duel was under way.
"But have a seat anyway, Mr. Potter."
"Thank you." He looked at his watch. "I really ought to be getting back to my paper soon."
"You work on a paper around here?"
"Yes. I own a weekly paper in Dorset, about ten miles from Ilium."
"Oh—you don’t say. Lovely little village. Thinking of giving up the paper, are you?"
"Well, no—not exactly. It’s a possibility. I bought the paper soon after the war, so I’ve been with it for eight years, and I don’t want to go stale. I might be wise to move on. It all depends on what opens up."
"You have a family?" said Mr. Dilling pleasantly.
"Yes. My wife, and two boys and two girls."
"A nice, big, well-balanced family," said Mr. Dilling. "And you’re so young, too."
"Twenty-nine," said David. He smiled. "We didn’t plan it to be quite that big. It’s run to twins. The boys are twins, and then, several days ago, the girls came."
"You don’t say!" said Mr. Dilling. He winked. "That would certainly start a young man thinking about getting a little security, eh, with a family like that?"
Both of them treated the remark casually, as though it were no more than a pleasantry between two family men. "It’s what we wanted, actually, two boys; two girls," said David. "We didn’t expect to get them this quickly, but we’re glad now. As far as security goes—well, maybe I flatter myself, but I think the administrative and