Gerber
Every night we had to clean the place up,
empty the trash, sweep, mop, wax, and buff the floors.
It took most of the night to do it, and every night shift had that duty. In the
back we had four computers about the size of large refrigerators. The jumble of wires back
there looked like vines in a jungle...a huge Gordian knot. It was
unnerving work, and we had to be very careful working amongst all the connections back
there. It was almost like walking through a minefield, or as Tiny Tim would say, walking
through the tulips.
Gerber was one dumb ass who just knew
everything, a nervous wreck who worked too fast. He always had four packs of
Pall Malls on him, one in each shirt pocket, and two more
in his fatigue pants. Those are like cargo pants. I neve saw him without a smoke,
and he was always lighting up his next smoke with the one on his lips. Gerber
was also, a man who was henpecked by his very large, and corpulent wife. She
was twice his size, and he was about six two, and maybe two twenty. Every
freaking night he had some jive ass shit to share with us about his wife.
“She’s focking killing me, man.”
He would start off every tale with that
same comment. It got so that we used to sit in a circle
by one of the desks, and wait for him to start the night. It must have been one hell
of a beef that day, because he never shared with us that night, instead he got busy
with the clean up as soon as he arrived.
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