George's New Life

    George stared at the pink slip his foreman handed him and each crew member, stating they would be laid off at the end of the day. George was forty-six years old and had worked at a rock quarry in Stone City since he was sixteen. The quarry would be closing permanently. He dreaded going home to tell his wife, Edith, a temperamental woman.

      At the end of their final shift, some of his coworkers met at the Hairy Goat Saloon. George hesitated to join them, but he didn’t particularly want to go home right away and face Edith, either. 

     George drove his aging pickup truck around to the rear of the building. Several years ago, the bar’s owner put a gravel parking area back there. Before that, cops took notes of the vehicles in the front parking lot. They are more likely to single out and arrest those drivers.

     When he entered the Hairy Goat, he spotted the crew sitting around a large table in the middle of the room. It was Friday night, the patrons were festive, and the lounge area was getting crowded.

     Clarence, a coworker, motioned George over. Clarence was still wearing his hard hat, and he always wore it at the Goat whenever he went there after work. There were three pitchers of beer on the table, and a waitress sat an empty mug down in front of George. Clarence grabbed a pitcher and filled the empty mug.

     “Drink up and cheer up,” advised Clarence. “Something else will come along. I hear they’re hiring in Jonesville!”

     “I don’t know anything but working at the quarry. I’ve been doing it all my life. It’s the only job I’ve ever had,” said George.

     “You don’t need any experience to work in a nursery,” pressed Clarence.

     “Working with babies?” 

     “Working with babies? That’s a good one! Tree nurseries, not baby nurseries, George. You know, trees and bushes for landscaping. There are plenty of them over there. It’s the nursery capital of the whole dang world!” Clarence laughed hardily. “You crack me up, George!”

     I’m not the one wearing the hard hat, George thought. “How do I get on?”

     “You got to go there and sign up. Just go to each one until one hires you. Start with the big ones first. They are better to work for.”

     “I never learned how to read or write very good.” 

     “Can you sign your name?” asked Clarence.

     “A little bit.”

     “Well then, there you have it, George. Drink up! You’re drinking too slowly. It’s time to celebrate. You may be moving up in the world. You never know!” Clarence laughed out loud and poured George another mug.

     Three hours and six mugs of beer later, George had forgotten about the time until he noticed the clock over a sign that said: This is a respectable bar. Report all fast women to the bartender. He grimaced at the time. It was ten o’clock, and he was never home later than seven. He not only had to break the news to his wife about permanently losing his job, but he would have to explain why he was late getting home and with beer breath, too. 

     Edith thought of everything she would say to George when he got home.  It was almost ten o’clock, and he was still not home. She knew the rock quarry had closed through her best friend, Elvira. Edith figured that George was chicken to come home and face her with the bad news. She suspected he was probably up to no good just when George pulled into the driveway. 

     George shielded his face as Edith began slapping at him when he walked through the front door. “Do you know what time it is?” Edith yelled. “Why didn’t you call?”

     “Stop hitting at me, Edith. What’s wrong with you! They closed the quarry. I met with the crew after work.”

     “Well, no kidding! You’ve been drinking, haven’t you?” Edith screamed.

     “I forgot about the time. I’m sorry,” responded George.

     “Where you been?”

     “The crew and I met after work. We were laid off today.”

     “I know that, but where have you been?”

     “I was at the Hairy Goat….”

     “You were at that vile place?” Edith interrupted. “You lost your job and came home drunk! Are you stupid? Do you think you can afford to get drunk? I’d think you would get your act together and get another job! What do you think, Bozo?”

     “It’s a good thing we all met. I found out where I could get another job. We may have to move,” George claimed.

     “Bull! You’re always full of it when you’re drunk. What are you talking about, George?”

     “I’m talking about the nursery business.” George tried to make it seem glamorous as possible. “There’s lots of money to be made in nursery.” 

     “What the hell do you know about that business?”

     “They train, and they give us a place to live. I can’t help that the quarry closed. It’s not my fault. We need to go to Jonesville next week.”

     “You got to sign up for unemployment next week, you dolt! Did your boss give you notice of dismissal?”

     “No, but he gave me this.” George showed Edith the pink slip.

     “That IS your notice of dismissal, you dummy.”

     George and Edith made a trip to Jonesville the following Monday, to follow up on this possible job opportunity. He had considered going there alone and take a short vacation away from Edith, but she insisted on going too.

     He was hired on the spot and his new Forman wanted George to begin as soon as possible. He and Edith drove directly to a trailer park where they could rent a spacious one for a very affordable price. As much as Edith hated their rented small home that was practically dilapidated, she didn’t like the newer trailer home any better. She complained about the move the entire trip home. 

     George had only a few days to make moving arrangements and report to his new job the next week. He had already made a security payment on the trailer and could move in anytime. The more he thought about a fresh start, the more excited he became. Edith was relentless in her nagging each day leading up to the weekend as they boxed up their belongings. By Thursday, George was at his breaking point with seemingly no escape or was there?

     Saturday morning, Edith awakened early and reached over to nudge George but he was already up. She called out to him to turn on the percolator but he didn’t respond. She got up, walked to the kitchen and picked up a note on the kitchen table. George could barely write but she could make out the words. It was a Dear Jane letter.