The conveyer belt never stops

The conveyor belt never stops. It’s been a month. I agreed to work in this car seat factory for the summer because the pay was good. When I wasn’t accepted to any medical school, I stayed on. At first, I made it a game. As the rubber seats come down the line, I’d grab one and run as fast I could to the waiting cart. Who knew the cart’s destination? I didn’t care, I just wanted my times to become faster and faster. I wanted to be the fastest and most efficient worker in the factory. It didn’t matter that I was on the 7 pm to 7am shift and was sleep deprived. I just wanted to be the best. Other workers were emotionless automatons. Roman was the only other employee to whom I could relate. He was an educated recent immigrant from Poland. We could talk about books and politics during our breaks, but he had a very dark side. I could only take him in small doses. His disdain for everybody and everything was overwhelming, It gave me chills. He reminded me of Raskolnikov in Crime and Punishment. I was reluctant to give him my address or introduce him to any of my friends.

My best friend Bob had worked in the factory for two weeks. He sprayed some sort of toxic substance into the vat that produced the seat. He developed a cough and a swollen hand and had to quit. He went back to college and eventually law school. I tried not to feel abandoned. The days and weeks passed, and I was offered a promotion and permanent position in the factory. My mind was numb, but my pockets were full. I had a month to decide. My girlfriend had dumped me. I wasn’t sure if it was my inability to stay awake or lack of ambition. Maybe she had envisioned life with a doctor not a factory worker. Oh well, I had no time or energy for a social life.

My dad took me aside and asked me what my goals and plans were for the future. I had just moved back home, and he was worried. Did I really want to be a factory worker? If I wasn’t accepted to medical school, what about law or graduate school? I wasn’t in the mood. The idea of law school was repulsive. I was too honest to be a lawyer and too insecure to be a professor. I thought of being a writer but again I was too damned insecure. What if nobody bought my books? I had a steady job and made good money. Maybe it was my destiny; a runner in a car seat factory. Yup, I was depressed and punishing myself.  I could not see my way out of my current situation. I didn’t have to think or emote. It’s where I wanted to be.

The next few weeks were a blur. I broke all records for the number of car seats loaded during one shift. I even bought a stopwatch to time myself. I was losing it! Roman became my only friend and I began sharing his dark thoughts.  I had only two weeks to decide on my future in the factory. There were very few ‘lifers’ in the factory. I tried to talk to them but could not relate. Was I any better than them? My Marxist leanings made me ashamed of any feeling of superiority. I couldn’t even get into medical school. What right had I to judge them?

One Saturday night, I took my former girlfriend, Sandy, out for dinner. I knew she would give me an honest assessment of my worth and potential. Secretly, I wanted her to make the decision regarding the factory for me. She just laughed. “You’re just fooling yourself. You know you are going back to school and trying again. It’s medical school or bust for you. You’ve been playing doctor since we were kids.”

I knew Sandy was yanking my chain a little about ‘playing doctor’ but deep down I knew she was right. Yet I couldn’t admit it to myself or to her. When I shrugged my shoulders and wouldn’t agree, she just laughed. We parted just friends. I repressed our conversation and went back to the assembly line on Monday, ready to set new records. Roman continued to bend my ear about the evils in the world. I didn’t have to think or emote, just work and set my personal records. I slept during the days and worked all night. My world was upside down.

It had been over a month and all my friends were either in medical or law school. The few times we all got together, they complained of their long hours of hard work and study. I just stared and grunted. While they talked of cadavers and mock courts, I talked of car seats, personal records and Roman. I could feel them judging me. Were they really my friends? Maybe Roman was really the only friend who could understand me. I would show them! That evening, I decided I would accept the promotion and the permanent position. Karl Marx would be proud.

I avoided any discussion with my dad the next couple days, knowing what he would say. My mind was made up. I would be a factory worker and a writer. Weren’t there several famous Russian writers who worked in a factory? I would be the proletariat writer.  My elitist doctor and lawyer friends would have to respect me. Sandy would regret mocking me.

That Monday, I put on some new running shoes and was ready to roll. I would set some new personal records at the factory and inform the foreman of my decision. Why wasn’t I more excited? I had this gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach. The hours passed and the car seats piled up. I even worked an extra shift. I was procrastinating. Just as I was going into the foreman’s office, I received a phone call. It was my mom. Had someone died? No, the local medical school called. Someone had just dropped out and I was first on the waiting list. I was saved!