Charles Bukowski - Factotum

I finished both the ladies' and the men's restrooms, emptied the wastebaskets and dusted a few desks. Then I went back to the ladies crapper. They had sofas and chairs in there and an alarm clock. I had four hours left. I set the alarm to ring thirty minutes before quitting time. I stretched out on one of the couches and went to sleep.

The alarm wakened me. I stretched, splashed cold water on my face, and went down to the storage room with my gear. Old Hugh approached me. "Welcome to the land of the assholes," he said to me, more calmly this time. I didn't answer. It was dark in there and we only had ten minutes until punchout time. We took off our overalls, and in most cases our street clothes were as dismal and as sad as our working clothes. We spoke very little or in whispers. I didn't mind the quiet. It was restful.

Then Hugh got right up next to my ear: "_Look at the jerks!_" he screamed. "_Just look at the god damned jerks!_"

I walked away from him and stood at the other side of the room.

"_Are you one of them?_" he screamed across at me, "_are you an asshole too?_"

"Yes, noble sir."

"_How'd you like a foot up your ass?_" he screamed back.

"There's only empty space between us," I said.

Ancient warrior that he was, Hugh decided to close that space and he came in a hurry, leaping stiffly over a row of buckets. I stepped aside and he went flying past. He turned, came back grabbed me by the throat with both hands. He had long powerful fingers for such an old man; I could feel each one of them, even his thumbs. Hugh smelled like a sinkful of unwashed dishes. I tried to pry him loose but his grip only got stronger. Shots of red, blue and yellow flashed inside my head. I had no choice. I brought a knee up as gently as possible. I missed the first try, got him on the second. His fingers and thumbs loosened. Hugh fell to the floor, grabbing his parts. Jacob came up. "What happened here?"

"He called me an asshole, sir, and then he attacked me."

"Listen, Chinaski, this man is my best janitor. He's the best janitor I've had in fifteen years. Go easy on him, will you?" I walked over, got my time card and punched out. Peppery old Hugh looked up at me from the floor as I walked out: "I'm going to kill you, mister," he said.

Well, I thought, at least now he's polite. But that really didn't make me happy.

The next night I did about four hours work then went to the ladies' room, set the alarm and stretched out. I must have been asleep for about an hour when the door opened. It was Herman Barnes and Jacob Christensen. They looked at me; I raised my head and looked back, then put my head down on the cushion again. I heard them walk through into the crapper. When they came out I didn't look at them. I closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep.

The next day when I awakened about noon, I told Jan about it: "They caught me sleeping and didn't fire me. I guess I got them scared because of Hugh. It pays to be a tough son of a bitch. The world belongs to the strong."

"They're not going to let you get away with that."

"Balls. I've always told you I had it. I've got the touch. You might as well not have any god damned ears. You never listen to me."

"It's because you keep on saying the same thing over and over again."

"All right, let's have a drink and talk about it. You've been walking around with your ass up in the air since we got back together. Shit, I don't need you and you don't need me. Let's face up to the obvious."

Before the argument could start there was a knock on the door. "Hold it," I said and got into some pants. I opened the door and there was a Western Union delivery boy. I gave him a dime and opened the telegram:

HENRY CHINASKI: YOUR EMPLOYMENT WITH THE TIMES CO. HAS BEEN TERMINATED. HERMAN BARNES.

"What is it?" asked Jan.

"I've been canned."

"How about your check?"

"No mention."

"They owe you a check."

"I know. Let's go get it."

"O.K."

The car was gone. First it had lost its reverse gear, which was a challenge I overcame by continually planning ahead as we drove. Then the battery went dead which meant that the only way I could start it was coasting down a hill. I managed that for some weeks, then one night Jan and I got drunk and I forgot and parked it on a flat street outside a bar. It wouldn't start, of course, so I called an all-night garage and they came and towed it away. When I went to pick up the car a few days later they'd sunk $55 into repairing it and it still wouldn't start. I walked home and mailed them the pink slip.

So we had to walk to the Times Building. Jan knew I liked her in high heels so she put them on and we walked down there. It was a good twenty blocks one way. Jan sat down and rested on a bench outside and I walked up to the Payroll Department.

"I'm Henry Chinaski. I've been terminated and I'm here for my check."

"Henry Chinaski," said the girl, "wait a moment."

She looked through a sheaf of papers. "I'm sorry, Mr. Chinaski, but your check isn't ready yet."

"All right, I'll wait."

"We can't have your check ready until tomorrow, sir."

"But I've been terminated."

"I'm sorry. Tomorrow, sir."

I walked out. Jan got up from the bench. She looked hungry. "Let's hit the Grand Central Market for some stew meat and vegetables, then let's get a couple of bottles of good French wine."

"Jan, they said the check wasn't ready."

"But they have to give it to you. It's the law."

"I guess it is. I don't know. But they said the check would be ready tomorrow."

"Oh Christ, and I've walked all this way in high heels."

"You look good, baby."

"Yeah."

We started walking back. Halfway back Jan took off her heels and walked in her stocking feet. A couple of cars honked as we walked along. I gave each one of them the finger. When we got back there was enough money for tacos and beer. We got that, ate and drank, argued a bit, made love, and slept.

The next day about noon we started out again, Jan in her high heels. "I want you to make us some of that stew today," she said. "No man makes stew like you can. It's your greatest talent."

"Thanks a hell of a lot," I said.

It was still twenty blocks. Jan sat down on the bench again and took off her shoes while I went to Payroll. It was the same girl.

"I'm Henry Chinaski," I said.

"Yes?"

"I was here yesterday."

"Yes?"

"You said my check would be ready today."

"Oh."

The girl went through her papers. "I'm sorry, Mr. Chinaski, but your check isn't here yet."

"But you said it would be ready."

"I'm sorry, sir, sometimes payroll checks take a little time to process."

"I want my check."

"I'm sorry, sir."

"You're not sorry. You don't know what sorrow is. I do. I want to see your boss's boss. Now."

The girl picked up a phone. "Mr. Handler? A Mr. Chinaski would like to see you about a termination payroll check."

There was some more small talk. Finally the girl looked at me. "Room 309." I walked down to 309. The sign said "John Handler." I opened the door. Handler was alone. An officer and a director of the largest and most powerful newspaper in the West. I sat down in the chair across from him.

"Well, John," I said, "they booted my ass; caught me asleep in the ladies' crapper. Me and my old lady have walked down here two days running only to be told you don't have the check. Now, you know, that's pure crap. All I want to do is get that check and get drunk. That may not sound noble but it's my choice. If I don't get that check I'm not sure what I'll do."

Then I gave him a look straight out of " Casablanca." "Got a smoke?"

John Handler gave me a smoke. He even lit it. Either they're going to throw a net over me or I'm going to get my check, I thought.