Loose Screws

By

Adam Bourne

Part I-The Report

Baker eased his way around the corner and leaned his back against the concrete wall of the corporation. The chewing gum in his mouth had become flavorless and inelastic so he spit it out into his hand, looked around, and then mashed the gum into one of the narrow channels that ran along the wall. Then he reached into his pocket, pulled out another stick of gum, and put it into his mouth. It was time to move.

With two hands Baker hoisted his jeans up so that a good portion of his paunch was now concealed beneath his beltline. He glanced over his shoulder and began to walk intently. He chewed his gum intently as well, letting his fast-moving jaws dictate the pace of his feet. Before he came to the main part of the factory, he could hear the sweet sounds of industry. Baker halted. A certain, profound wave of energy washed over his body so that he even ceased chewing his gum for a moment.

What he heard was mostly a jumbled, scratchy brand of country music that was being broadcast over the factory speakers. It was Friday and on Friday nights the radio was always tuned to 103.5 FM, Real Country. Baker could just make out the lyrics: "She's a good bass fisher, a dynamite kisser, country as a turnip green..." But he wasn't listening to the music. There was something beneath the music, something barely audible, but much bigger and infinitely more inspiring than the music. It was like a dull roar, but filled with all manner of clinks and clanks and thuds and screeches. Baker used his shirt sleeve to wipe the few beads of sweat that had begun to surface on his brow, and then he continued walking.

After a minute he came full into the heart of the factory. The music and the roar had increased so that they now filled his entire being. The assembly line lay sprawled out before him like the innards of some giant, mechanical snake. There were literally miles of metal and plastic all intricately bound together for one purpose: the manufacturing of computer printers. There were people caught inside the web of metal and plastic. They were spaced every few feet along the line, heads bent and hands rapidly moving to drill in screws, twist wires, make adjustments, put on labels, and perform all manner of tasks. There were thousands of boxes stacked upon crates everywhere. Men and women on forklifts hurried back and forth, bringing supplies to the workers on the line. The whole scene was one of tremendous industry and efficiency.

Baker had stopped momentarily underneath a large sign hanging on the wall that read: A Clean Workplace is a Safe Workplace. As he stood there he heard a voice directed at him from one of the guys on the line.

"Hey Baker, did your old lady say if she was coming over to my place tonight?" Baker quickly picked out the source of the voice. It was Joe Edwards, team leader on the part of the line known as H-Line. Baker quickly hoisted up his pants and shot back: "Ahh, you just better watch your damn mouth, Edwards, before I have to come over there." Baker smiled thinly, pleased with the gruffness of the exchange, but then he remembered management had been cracking down on people who used foul language in the workplace. Baker hoped no one had heard him. Then he thought about what a jack-ass Joe Edwards was. Things were getting so bad in the workplace anymore that a man could lose his job for just about any little infraction. Hell, if you even so much as thought about pinching a girl on the butt you could lose your job.

Baker sighed and took a right turn. He walked down a starkly antiseptic and starkly white corridor with doors on both sides. The doors had small name-tags on them. Baker turned left and walked down another corridor, and then he turned right again. The noise from the factory was barely audible. There were numbers printed on the top of the door frames. Baker stopped at the office marked 1032. He looked at the name-tag on the door, which read James A. Manley, Manager. Baker hoisted up his jeans as best he could with one hand, swallowed hard, and knocked.

"Come on in," a deep baritone voice boomed out. Baker entered.

"Hello, sir."

"What's up, little man? Have a seat there. How the hell are you?" Baker hated it when the manager called him little man, but if anybody could get away with it then it was James A. Manley. Not only was he the Manager, but Manley was 6'5", 250 lbs. he had played football in college for Alabama. Manley was older now, with thinning hair and a healthy paunch, but he was still built like a tank. Baker shuffled up in front of the manager's desk and sat down in a straight-backed black chair.

"I'm doing good, sir. Just working hard."

"Or maybe you're hardly working. Is that it, Baker?" Manley let out a long, deep laugh that completely filled up the little office. Baker shifted in the straight-backed chair, saying nothing. He was pretty perturbed, but also a little intimidated. "Goddamn," Manley said, starting to laugh again, "you trying to murder that chewing gum?" Baker didn't know what to say to this either but he knew he had to say something.

"Well, I don't know about all that, but I got that report typed up."

"What report is that?"

"The one about the kid over on H-Line."

"What's he been doing?"

"Who?"

"The kid over on H-Line."

"Well, we got a tip from Joe Edwards, the team leader over there..."

"Wait a second," Manley broke in, "who made that jack-ass a team leader?"

"I don't know, sir, but he is."

Manley shook his head. "Well, get on with it."

"Anyway, we got a tip from Joe that this kid wasn't doing his operation correctly. This young punk wasn't loosening enough screws."

"What do you mean he wasn't loosening enough screws?" Manley asked.

Baker stopped chewing his gum and leaned in toward Manley. "Well, this kid works at operation 565, the printhead skew adjustment operation. The protocol for that operation clearly states that he is supposed to loosen three screws, make the adjustment, and then tighten the screws back down." Baker stopped speaking and nodded knowingly at Manley.

"So exactly what has this kid been doing?" Manley asked.

"He's only been loosening two screws, and then making the adjustment." Baker resumed chewing his gum and gazed at Manley intently, letting the profundity of the crime sink in."

Manley thought for a minute and then he looked at Baker. "So why is he doing it?"

Baker acted as though this question had never occurred to him. "Well, I don't know. It's strictly against protocol. I suppose maybe it saves time. You know, it's faster to just unloosen two screws than it is to unloosen three."

"Yeah, I can imagine, " Manley said quickly. "Is he doing any harm to the printers doing it his way?"

Baker sat up straight and thought for a second. "Well, now, I don't know. Of course, it's strictly against protocol, what he's doing, but I don't think he's doing any harm. I guess he probably done thousands of printers that way."

"And no one has noticed anything?"

"No, not so far I know. But we'd really need to get with the engineers to tell. It's really a matter of principle Manley. These college kids come in here for one summer and they think they know how to run the show. It ridiculous. Hell, I've been here seventeen years, worked on the line for eight, and I always followed protocol." Baker had begun to get heated.

"Calm down now," Manley said. "I'll look into the matter. What's this kid's name?"

"Irving, Eric Irving." With that, Baker stood up, hoisted his blue jeans up on his belly, and turned to go. When he was almost out the door, he turned to back around. "I'll keep an eye on him, Manley."

"You do that Baker. You do that."

Part II-The Lieutenant

Eric had not known that the little man was watching him until Billy Hill told him. Billy had come up beside him one day to empty a garbage can.

"They're watchin you, " Billy had said, as he put a twisty-tie on a sack of garbage.

Eric had laughed at him, but decided to play along. "What are you talking about, Billy? Who's watching me?"

"Them." Billy had craned his wild head around slowly, darting his eyes back and forth to make sure no one was watching. Then he let his long thin nose point to a giant sign on the wall. The sign said Diacom: The Future of Printing.

"Diacom is watching me?" Eric asked. Billy just nodded once and kept moving.

Eric had not thought too much about what Billy had said because Billy was crazy and everybody knew it. At the beginning of Eric's first day on the job Billy had come up to him and said, "You ain't workin hard enough! Get to work!"

"What are you talking about?" Eric had stammered. "What do you want me to do?" Billy had just shook his head in disgust and walked off to empty some more trash cans. When Eric watched Billy walk away he almost broke out laughing because the fiery trashman bounced up and down like a fishing bobber. Billy was a tall man and thin as rail, with long, gangly appendages. He had a long thin nose that ended at a sharp point on his gaunt face. Everywhere he went in the factory he dragged behind him a big gray trashcan on wheels. He emptied the smaller trashcans placed all along the line into the big gray one. Whenever he emptied a trash can he would grab a new white bag from the bunch that he kept tucked in the back of his blue jeans. Billy worked harder than anyone in the factory. He worked without ceasing through all of the breaks, and usually had to be forced to stop for dinner. He would change the trash bags even if they were empty and every third or fourth trip around he would clean the inside of the cans with antiseptic spray. Billy would have been the ideal employee but he liked to impose his work ethic upon anyone who had not already threatened to kill him. This was mainly the new people.

He had come up to Eric three times that first day and jumped all over him for not working hard enough. The second time Billy came up was during break. Eric was sitting down on a crate eating a candy bar and drinking a Coke. Billy went to empty a trashcan that was about ten feet away from where Eric was sitting. While he was emptying the can he kept looking back over his shoulder and scowling at Eric. Finally, he stopped what he was doing and came over.

"Man, I'll tell you what!" he said, waving a long bony finger in the air. Billy's voice was frantic and hillybilly. "You can't be sittin around like this! If the boss sees you he'll fire you sure enough! Get up! Get up off of that crate and get busy!"

"Don't you understand," Eric began, "it's break time and nobody works during break time." He had begun to get angry even though he had figured out that Billy had the mind of a child. "You don't have to work during break, you understand."

"Oh yes I do!" Billy shot back. "I got things to do around here and so do you! Get up!"

Before Eric could say any more he heard loud deep voice from somewhere behind him.

"Lieutenant Hill, what you doin over there?" As soon as Billy heard the voice his brow furrowed and a suspicious, fearful look came into his eyes. He looked kind of like a child who has just been spanked for doing something wrong. "Lieutenant Hill, are you botherin this man?" Soon the speaker stepped out from behind some boxes and came into view. He was a rather short and very stocky black man. He was so stocky that he reminded Eric of a refrigerator.

"How you doin?" asked the stocky man, looking at Eric. "My name's Keith." He extended a meaty hand and Eric shook it and told Keith his name.

"Is the Lieutenant givin you a hard time?" Keith nodded his head towards Billy.

"The Lieutenant?" Eric asked.

"Yeah, his name's Billy, but I call him the Lieutenant." With that, Keith turned to face Billy and clicked his heels together. Then he stuck out his chest and snapped one of his fat hands up to his forehead in a military salute. "I salute you Lieutenant Hill!" he barked out.

Billy gave Keith a mean look, and grabbing his big gray trash can, he turned to go. But Keith quickly hopped in his path.

"Why don't you just get the hell out of my way, Keith. I ain't been botherin you." Billy looked for a way to slide around Keith, but there might as well have been an elephant in his path.

"I know you ain't been bothering me, but you been bothering my boy here, and I'm not gonna let you pass till you salute me."

"Now Keith, you better just get out of my way. I got work to do. Now move." Billy tried to move around the big man, but Keith only started laughing and nudged him back.

"You ain't goin nowhere till you salute me, Lieutenant Hill." Finally Billy understood what he had to do. He backed up from his garbage can, clicked his big feet together, and saluted his obstacle all in one hasty, sloppy motion. "Now get the hell outta my way Keith!"

By this time Keith was doubled over in laughter so Billy quickly pushed beside him with his trash can in tow.

"Aw shit," said Keith, just coming out of his fit of laughter. "That Billy Hill's one crazy motherfucker."

Eric smiled. "Yeah, he's been coming over here telling me that I need to work harder."

"Yeah, I saw him over here bothering you, that's why I came over. He does that to all the new people. If he keeps it up just tell him you're gonna go to the boss. Then he'll stop."

"Thanks, I'll do that."

Keith stroked the stubble on his fat chin philosophically. "I'll tell you what, Eric, this place is a madhouse. A man's gotta go a little bit crazy just to make it in here." With that, he smiled and gave Eric a salute. Eric saluted him back and the buzzer sounded to go back to work.

Part III-The Big Man

Eric felt someone tapping on his shoulder and he twisted his head around to see how it was. Baker stood behind him, his little jaws working furiously on a piece of chewing gum.

"Manley wants to see you in his office now," Baker said.

Eric looked the little man hard in the eyes. "All right, I'll got as soon as I finish this printer." He finished what he was doing and told Joe Edwards that he had to go talk to Manley.

Joe raised his eyebrows in mock seriousness. "Been summoned by the Big Man, have you? I'd just keep an eye out for that trap door if I were you."

Eric turned away without responding. He was thinking that Joe was one of the biggest jack-asses he'd ever met. Eric threaded his way to the clear area outside of the line and after walking a short distance took a right into the white corridor that led to Manley's office. He took a left and then another right and coming to office 1032 he stopped and knocked.

"Come on in," Manley's voice boomed out.

Eric pushed open the door and walked in. "How's it going, sir?"

"Just fine, Eric, how about yourself?"

"I'm doing pretty good."

"That's good to hear. Have a seat there." Eric sat down in one of the black, straight-backed chairs in front of Manley's desk. He looked around the office and wondered at how small it was. He thought about the little cubicle in relation to the whole gigantic corporation. He felt sure that even Manley, high on the ladder as he was, could not be very significant in such a place. Then Eric began to think about how significant he and the other line workers were to the corporation and his mind reeled and collapsed with the thought. It was baffling and depressing to consider.

Manley surprised him with a question. "What are you thinking about?"

Eric looked at him and noticed the way his biceps stretched the sleeves of the polo he was wearing. "Nothing."

"Ah, now, you were thinking about something. I could see it in your face."

Eric lied and said, "I was just wondering why you wanted to see me."

Manley seemed to ponder something for a few seconds and then he spoke. "Well, I just got this report back from Baker and it looks like you haven't been loosening enough screws."

"But I think I've loosened plenty of screws since I've been working here."

"I'm sure you have Eric, but that's not the point. You haven't been following protocol, and when just one person isn't following protocol the whole operation is jeopardized. Imagine that everyone working on the line is part of a baseball team."

"I hate baseball," Eric broke in. He surprised himself by saying it.

"Well, I don't care for it much either, but I'm just trying to show you something." Manley was leaning over on his desk now, his thick forearms angling into one pair of clasped hands. "Say you're the pitcher, Eric, and you're supposed to be throwing fastballs. If you're supposed to be throwing fastballs, then you can't go out and throw lobs. That just won't cut it."

Manley stopped speaking and looked at Eric. A small picture that sat in a frame on top of a filing cabinet caught Eric's attention. It was a picture of Manley and another older black man. They were both dressed in camouflage, and Manley had a bow slung backwards over his shoulder. Manley and the older man were standing on the ground on either side of the bed of a pickup truck. It looked like they were in some sort of overgrown field. Laying in between them in the bed of the truck was a dead deer. Both of the men were holding an antler so that the deer faced the camera too.

"That's my daddy," Manley said. "The one on the other side of the truck."

Eric looked at Manley and nodded. He almost cracked a joke but thought better of it.

"I killed that buck four years ago on his farm down in Alabama. It was one mean son-of-a-bitch. Took me two arrows and a bowie knife but I finally brought it down."

"That's great," Eric said.

Manley looked at him hard for a second, and slipping on a pair of reading glasses, he looked down at the papers on his desk. "You didn't do very well at all on your performance audit. In fact, you got low marks in almost every category." Then he started to list the categories: "efficiency, attention to quality, communication with fellow employees, willingness to follow instructions, display of initiative, and general morale."

"General morale?" Eric asked.

"Well, sure," Manley said, as if he couldn't believe Eric were asking the question. "You come in here with a bad attitude every day and it starts to rub off on people. Before you know it everybody on the line is hating their job, and that's bad for quality."

"Diacom: Our Mission is Quality," Eric repeated.

"Damn straight our mission is quality," Manley said earnestly. "Quality is what keeps us in business. It's what gives these people jobs so they can survive."

"What about quality of life, doesn't that mean anything? These people come in here and work themselves silly so that they can barely scrape by. They're just robots."

"A man's got to do something to live, Eric. It's not a fun way to make a living. It sure as hell isn't glamorous, but it is a living. There are worse things to do."

"Do you like your job Manley?"

"I've done well for myself here, especially for a poor boy from Alabama. It's not been easy, Eric, and it's not been very much fun, but I am where I am today because I worked hard and learned how to put up with some shit." Manley paused, and slipping off his reading glasses, he leaned back in his chair. "I'm sending a kid off to college in the fall. That's something my parents never could have done for me. The only reason I ever got to go to college was because I'm big and I could play football. But I dropped out after a couple of years and spent some time in the service. It's been a long road, Eric."

"I don't doubt that Manley. I just can't work here anymore."

"I know you can't. I'm firing you."

"You're firing me on my last night here?"

"You failed your performance audit so I'm firing you."

"Okay," Eric said. He laid down his security badge and turned to go.

"You get out of here," Manley called as he was walking out the door. "Go back to school. Work hard. Appreciate the opportunities that you have."

Eric let the door close on Manley. He walked back through the white corridors and back into the noise of the factory. He started heading in a different direction from where he worked so that he could leave with talking to anyone. At the far end of the factory, just as he was about to the door, he heard someone call to him.

"Hey!"

Eric turned and saw Billy coming towards him with his trash can.

"Where you goin?" Billy shouted. "It ain't time to go yet. The buzzer ain't sounded."

"I'm going home, buddy." Billy looked at him in disbelief. Then he shook his head in exasperation.

"You can't leave. There's still work that needs finished."

"I know there is, Billy. Good-bye."

Eric turned and walked out the factory door into the open night. The moon was full and bright. A couple of small trees cast shadows along the sidewalk that led to the parking lot. Eric looked back at the factory once more and he could just make out Billy's thin form in one of the windows. He saw Billy shake his head and then disappear back into the factory. Eric walked on in the moonlight.