Nothing Better To Do - a novel in stories - Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

House of Pain was doing so well on his new job at the Serena Daily Banner that orders came down from high command to offer him some overtime. Norm broached the subject at the end of work on the Friday of his third week on the job. "You're a good worker, Bunky. Ya done so good we're gonna give you a chance to earn a little extra money."

The plum Norm had in mind was the dirtiest job at the paper, something that had to be done once-a-month, clean the printer's ink that had accumulated on the various flat horizontal surfaces about the mammoth room that housed the printing presses.

The Banner was one of the last newspaper operations of its kind. Most papers had been using computers and offset printing for twenty-five years. The Banner had replaced its antiquated equipment with insurance money for water damage their machinery suffered when the paper lost its roof in the '75 tornado. Management had lacked the foresight to go high-tech and had simply purchased updated versions of the same linotype machines and printing presses that they had been using all along. So the equipment, although now itself antiquated, was in reasonably good operating condition. Therefore, the Luddites, who currently over-saw operations, lacked any impetus to go modern. That would remain the case until some time in the not-too-distant future, when the last of the linotype operators would either die off, or retire to Florida. Meanwhile, once-a-month, someone would have to go in there and clean up the mess.

Printer's ink has the consistency of a thick, gelatinous grease. It sticks to any surface with which it comes into contact, and, while it wipes off easily enough, it is usually so thick that it requires more wipes than a baby's butt. None of the janitors from the day crew wanted the extra money bad enough to volunteer for the job, and, since they all had seniority over Norm, it usually fell on him. Now he was off the hook. Volunteering wasn't really an option, but he wouldn't tell that to House, unless he declined it. For now, he would make it seem like a reward. Next month, no doubt, would be different.

House reported to work on Saturday night. Norm was there to supervise. The presses were silent because the Banner didn't publish a Sunday edition.

"Cover yourself with these!" Norm pointed to a pile of recently laundered, large-size industrial rags. He showed House how to tie them around his neck, over his head and around his waist. Then he sent him up a thirty foot high wooden folding-ladder to remove the grease from atop the florescent light fixtures which hung on long rods from the ceiling. "You don't have to get them perfectly clean. The object is to get the heavy. Tomorrow, when they run the presses, they'll just start accumulating the gunk all over again."

At first, House was afraid to climb the shaky ladder. The higher he got, the more nervous he became. "Hold it good!" he called down to Norm when he was about a third of the way up. Once he got to the top, he became so engrossed in the cleaning, that he forgot to be scared.

The black goo was about three inches thick on the white enamel tops of the light fixtures. When House was done with the first one, it shone like new.

"What's takin' so long up there?" Norm was looking at his watch. At this rate, House would only half-finish the job, unless Norm helped. "C'mon down! Let me take a look!"

House climbed down and held the ladder while Norm went up to see what had been done. "Damn, House," he called down, "I told you not to do too good a job. It ain't like Findaly's gonna climb up here and inspect!"

They moved on to the next fixture and it was the same thing. House just couldn't get it into his head to do a less-than-perfect job. Norm wrapped himself in rags and started to clean the fixtures he could reach from the cat-walk that ran around the outer wall of the room. That left House to climb the shaky ladder without anyone securing the bottom. He couldn't bring himself to do it. Soon it was House holding the ladder and Norm atop it, wiping away at the stubborn black glop.

On Monday afternoon, Norm came to the paper early to complain to his immediate superior, the day foreman, about House's performance on Saturday night. "He just ain't cut out for this kind of work."

"I thought you told me he was doing a good job." The day foreman had been wise to Norm for some time.

"Well he was, but he's afraid of heights."

"Can he sweep?"

"Hell yes, he can sweep. He's a sweeping fool."

"Does he have any strength to him."

"Hah, I've been of a mind to enter him in the oxen-pull at the county fair."

"I'm going to put him on days. I need a man can haul the lead over to the linotype machines. He can sweep up when he's not doing that. I'm going to give you Jerome. He's been staying out late, getting drunk an awful lot lately. Hasn't been worth a shit around here in the morning. Nights will do him some good."

"But..."

"No buts. It's done. Let Marvin go home early tonight. Tell him to see me at eight tomorrow morning. Jerome starts with you tomorrow night."

***

House's Mama was proud. Of course her boy was never going to make reporter, but, in just a few weeks, he had been offered overtime and put on days. In her mind this was a promotion. And there was something different about House. Not only was his intelligence increasing, he seemed to be getting smarter, if you could separate the two. It was like he was more worldly-wise. There was no doubt about it, the work was doing him good. That business about the beer being responsible was just a rumor. She stopped giving him beer after the first week. All he'd ever needed was a little social interaction and a little respect. She felt bad that she hadn't tried to put him to work sooner, had babied him too much. He had a lot of catching up to do, but he seemed to be doing it by leaps and bounds.

***

House carefully maneuvered the skid, stacked high with lead ingots, across the special vinyl tiled floor. It was a long trip and he had to weave around a number of obstacles. When he got close to the linotype machine, he started to let it down with the hydraulic jack-lift handle.

"Not there! If you leave it all the way over there, I'll walk right-the-fuck outta here."

House was startled. He looked over at the shrunken old man with the green visor who was seated at the keyboard.

"Do you expect me to lift those heavy bars and carry them all the way over here. You ever hear about the linotype operator strikes that shut down all the New York papers in the 50's?" A cigar wagged in his mouth as he talked.

House didn't speak. He looked at the old man in wonderment. He'd never seen such an old man who was still working.

"Move it closer or I'm outta here! Findlay will have your ass, not mine."

House rolled the skid as close as he could get it. Once again, he started to lower it with the handle.

"No good, dummy!" Louie the linotype operator shouted at him. "More forward."

House complied. This time, when he set the skid down onto the floor, there was no complaint.

House turned and looked at the old man. "House," he said.

"What?"

"You can call me House, like most folks do, or you can call me Marvin. Don't call me dummy."

"You that House of Pain fellow I've heard about? I'm Louie. Just put all the skids right there, where you put that one, and you and I won't have any problems."

"Yes sir."

"Okay, Marvin. Now get them empty skids outta here and go get us a couple of Cokes." He handed him two singles.

***

House had hoped to become a reporter, but he liked working with Louie. The linotype operator had taken him under his wing. Every day Louie showed House something new, stuff he never shared with anyone else at the paper. And he treated House with respect. Besides Phil Rowley, Louie was the only one who ever called him Marvin.

"C'mere Marvin, I wanna show you something." It would be some fine point of the trade, a tip, a shortcut, invariably something House would never have thought of on his own. Slowly, but surely, House was learning this dying trade. He even took adult ed typing classes during the evenings over at the high school. In House, Louie saw a way to keep the craft alive. He had never had a son.

***

Gar Findlay called the day foreman into his office. "I want you to take Marvin Payne off sweeping and any other jobs you might have him do and let him work exclusively with Louie. There ain't enough work with Louie to keep a janitor busy all day."

"I know that, but Louie has threatened to quit if we don't let him have House as his apprentice. He'll continue to move the lead and he can sweep up the area around the linotype machines. We just can't let him out of Louie's sight."

Actually, Gar didn't think this was such a bad idea. Louie was really getting up there in years and the other linotype operator was slow and sloppy. Whenever Louie had been out sick, which, fortunately, hadn't been often, they'd run into real problems getting the paper out on time. Having a back-up, even one who could only help out a little, would be a good thing. And House was proving to be surprisingly competent.