Read Online Bittersweet Sands by Rick Ranson - Free Book Online Page B

never left the computer screen as she said, “Won’t be needing them, Barry. Thank you. Have a good day.”
    The office was silent but the sound of the door slamming shimmered like the shadow of an echo.
    Gwen sat with her hands on her lap, alone in that empty sixty-eight-foot trailer, squinting at the winter sun.
    She picked up the phone. “Hi, Angela? Hi, it’s Gwen over at Golden and Fliese. Say, I had an incident the other day with one of your guys which kinda left a sour taste.” Gwen said his name. “I know he seems like just another loudmouth, but I thought I’d let you know...”
    Gwen listened on the line.
    â€œI know he sounds harmless,” she continued, “but he’s....”
    Gwen was silent, listening. The late afternoon sun caught her jaw tightening.
    â€œAngela, do me a favour, please...”
    Gwen listened more, her fingers rearranged her mousepad in line with the edge of her desk. There was a brittleness in Gwen’s voice when she spoke again. “Angela, Google him. Just Google him. If that doesn’t bother you, don’t call me back. If you want to do something about what you read there, call me back in ten minutes.
    Angela called back in five.
    ( Email Day Six )
    From: Doug
    To: Dad
    Subject: Fort McMurray
    Hi, Dad!
    Today two scaffolders got into an argument. One pulled a knife and the other pulled a hammer. They were circling each other when the foremen showed up and stopped the fight. They were separated and then fired.
    If you get fired on any one of the refineries in Fort McMurray, your name gets blacklisted with them all. It’s something to think about. You could instantly drop from making over a hundred thousand a year to collecting welfare.
    Yet some guys still do it.
    Lobotomy told me he walked into the local pizza parlour and ordered a meal. They refused to serve him because the last time he was there he caused so much shit they threw him out. Lobotomy said he didn’t remember. I believe him.
    Pops said, “It’s hotter’n two rats screwing in a wool sock.”
    There was a guy named Scrap Iron who was a bully. He worked on another crew, but every morning when he walked through our trailer he made sure he walked by Stash’s table and slammed his fist down on Stash’s lunch bag. The guys said that Stash and Scrap Iron had a history.
    So this goes on for a couple of days, Scrap Iron walking by Stash, and then slamming his fist into Stash’s lunch bag. Finally, after a couple of days of this, Stash disappears for an hour in the refinery’s machine shop.
    Next morning Scrap Iron walks by Stash and his lunch and like every morning, he slams his palm into the lunch bag, right into six inches of needle-sharp welding rod. It went right through his hand.
    Pops’ dream is to take a bus trip to Nashville. I asked if once he got there, whether he would get me a date with that singer Sara Evans. He said, “I do believe she is connected, Dougdoug. Besides, I think you are more Minnie Pearl’s speed.”
I said, “Minnie Pearl? Isn’t she dead?”
“That’s right.”
    There was a guy down the hall from me in the construction camp who was found hoarding 276 of those breakfast-sized boxes of Raisin Bran. So they fired him for theft. The comment was, “I dunno, he seemed like a pretty regular guy.”
    Pops describes the way The Safety Nazi walks is like an arrogant penguin. He doesn’t know the borderline between safety and coercion, or as the guys say, he’s “co-worsting” us. He seems to forget that almost all these tradesmen have transferable skills and if he fires them from this project, they’ll get on the cell phone and be heading for another job by the time they leave McMurray.
    Like Pops said, “You get the union you deserve.” Sometimes after the weekly Safety Meeting, and being on that half hour receiving end of one of his “talks,”