Ham On Rye

"Forget it. I've got a place to go."

"No, Henry, get in!" she wailed. "Get in or I'll die!"

I walked over, opened the rear door, climbed into the rear seat. The engine started and we were off again. There I sat, Henry Chinaski, Class of Summer '39, driving into the bright future. No, being driven. At the first red light the car stalled. As the signal turned green my father was still trying to start the engine. Somebody behind us hooked. My father got the car started and we were in motion again. My mother had stopped crying. We drove along like that, each of us silent.

46

Times were still hard. Nobody was any more surprised than I when MearsStarbuck phoned and asked me to report to work the next Monday. I had gone all around town putting in dozens of applications. There was nothing else to do. I didn't want a job but I didn't want to live with my parents either. Mears-Starbuck must have had thousands of applications on hand. I couldn't believe they had chosen me. It was a department store with branches in many cities.

The next Monday, there I was walking to work with my lunch in a brown paper bag. The department store was only a few blocks away from my former high school.

I still didn't understand why I had been selected. After filling out the application, the interview had lasted only a few minutes. I must have given all the right answers.

First paycheck I get, I thought, I'm going to get myself a room near the downtown L.A. Public Library.

As I walked along I didn't feel so alone and I wasn't. I noticed a starving mongrel dog following me. The poor creature was terribly thin; I could see his ribs poking through his skin. Most of his fur had fallen off. What remained clung in dry, twisted patches. The dog was beaten, cowed, deserted, frightened, a victim of Homo sapiens.

I stopped and knelt, put out my hand. He backed off.

"Come here, fellow, I'm your friend… Come on, come on…"

He came closer. He had such sad eyes.

"What have they done to you, boy?"

He came still closer, creeping along the sidewalk, trembling, wagging his tail quite rapidly. Then he leaped at me. He was large, what was left of him. His forelegs pushed me backwards and I was flat on the sidewalk and he was licking my face, mouth, ears, forehead, everywhere. I pushed him off, got up and wiped my face.

"Easy now! You need something to eat! FOOD!"

I reached into my bag and took out a sandwich. I unwrapped it and broke off a portion.

"Some for you and some for me, old boy!"

I put his part of the sandwich on the sidewalk. He came up, sniffed at it, then walked off, slinking, staring back at me over his shoulder as he walked down the street away from me.

"Hey, wait, buddy! That was peanut butter! Come here, have some bologna! Hey, boy, come here! Come back!"

The dog approached again, cautiously. I found the bologna sandwich, ripped off a chunk, wiped the cheap watery mustard off, then placed it on the sidewalk.

I he dog walked up to the bit of sandwich, put his nose to it, sniffed, then turned and walked off. This time he didn't look back. He accelerated down the street.

No wonder I had been depressed all my life. I wasn't getting proper nourishment.

I walked on toward the department store. It was the same street I had walked along to go to high school.

I arrived. I found the employees' entrance, pushed the door open and walked in. I went from bright sunlight into semi- darkness. As my eyes adjusted I could make out a man standing several feet away in front of me. Half of his left ear had been sliced off at some point in the past. He was a tall, very thin man with needlepoint grey pupils centered in otherwise colorless eyes. A very tall thin man, yet right above his belt, sticking out over his belt - suddenly - was a sad and hideous and strange pot belly. All his fat had settled there while the remainder of him had wasted away.

"I'm Superintendent Ferris," he said. "I presume that you're Mr. Chinaski?"

"Yes, sir."

"You're five minutes late."

"I was delayed by… Well, I stopped to try to feed a starving dog," I gri

"That's one of the lousiest excuses I've ever heard and I've been here thirty-five years. Couldn't you come up with a better one than that?"

"I'm just starting, Mr. Ferris."

"And you're almost finished. Now," he pointed, "the time- clock is over there and the card rack is over there. Find your card and punch in."

I found my card. Henry Chinaski, employee #68754. Then I walked up to the timeclock but I didn't know what to do.

Ferris walked over and stood behind me, staring at the time- clock.

"You're now six minutes late. When you are ten minutes late we dock you an hour."

"I guess it's better to be an hour late."

"Don't be fu

"I'm sorry, but I don't know how to use a timeclock. I mean, how do I punch in?"

Ferris grabbed the card out of my hand. He pointed at it.

"See this slot?"

"Yeah."

"What?"

"I mean, 'yes.'"

"O.K., that slot is for the first day of the week. Today."

"Ah."

"You slip the timecard into here like this…"

He slipped it in, then pulled it out.

"Then when your timecard is in there you hit this lever."

Ferris hit the lever but the timecard wasn't in there.

"I understand. Let's begin."

"No, wait."

He held the timecard in front of me.

"Now, when you punch out for lunch, you hit this slot."

"Yes, I understand."

"Then when you punch back in, you hit the next slot. Lunch is thirty minutes."

"Thirty minutes, I've got it."

"Now, when you punch out, you hit the last slot. That's four punches a day. Then you go home, or to your room or wherever, sleep, come back and hit it four more times each working day until you get fired, quit, die or retire."

"I've got it."

"And I want you to know that you've delayed my indoctrination speech to our new employees, of which you, at the moment, are one. I am in charge here. My word is law and your wishes mean nothing. If I dislike anything about you - the way you tie your shoes, comb your hair or fart, you're back on the streets, get it?"

"Yes, sir!"

A young girl came flouncing in, ru

She glanced over at Ferris.

"Hi, Eddie!"

"Hi, Diana!"

Diana was obviously a salesgirl. Ferris walked over to her. They stood talking. I couldn't hear the conversation but I could hear them laughing. Then they broke off. Diana walked over and waited for the elevator to take her to her work. Ferris walked back toward me holding my timecard.

"I'll punch in now, Mr. Ferris," I told him.

"I'll do it for you. I want to start you out right."

Ferris inserted my timecard into the clock and stood there. He waited. I heard the clock tick, then he hit it. He put my card in the rack.

"How late was I, Mr. Ferris?"

"Ten minutes. Now follow me."

I followed along behind him. I saw the group waiting.

Four men and three women. They were all old. They seemed to have salivary problems. Little clumps of spittle had formed at the corners of their mouths; the spittle had dried and turned white and then been coated by new wet spittle. Some of them were too thin, others too fat. Some were nearsighted; others trembled. One old fellow in a brightly colored shirt had a hump on his back. They all smiled and coughed, puffing at cigarettes. Then I got it. The message.