2148

There was a big union meeting this morning, Ms J. An “important” meeting. That’s what some fellows called it. At the meeting, we were to decide how best to respond to the bullying and harassment we suffer at work. We want to register our displeasure with the way we've been treated lately. We voted recently to throw out a key portion of our union agreement, although for the record, Ms J, I am among the few who voted for the status quo. We’ve suffered enough changes lately at work. Why vote for more? Why change the way it’s been done since 1967? It’s always worked fine. Everyone was happy. Everyone. Company. Customer. Commuters.

But that was before the American invasion. That was before ongoing tensions between union and management factions eventually poisoned the relationship between company and customer. It’s a mess now, Ms J. A great, big mess. And when the current contract between my employer and the government-run commuter train service expires next June, we’ll no longer operate the trains we’ve run for forty years. Who will, you ask? Good question. It seems to be a closely guarded secret. And how will the transition be accomplished? Another good question. Still no answer.

Guidance was sought from someone higher up in our union and so a union leader was invited to speak to us. Mr. X. I dealt with Mr. X and his bloated ego when I was dismissed last year. I don’t like the man. I have no respect for him. And I don't trust him. It was he who sat idly by and did nothing while the company abolished thirty four jobs last winter. Thanks. Merry Christmas.

When it was his turn to speak, we endured fifteen minutes of rubbish about how he had spoken with the company CEO and how evil the company is and how the union hadn’t been successful in many of the grievances he’d championed since the invasion. "There's not much we can do. The company's power is absolute. When they want something, they usually get it." Blah, blah, blah. He did everything he could to tell us how strong and powerful and intractable the company is, and by implication, how weak and powerless we are as employees. It was not what we'd hoped to hear. Just once, we'd like to hear some good news, something encouraging and not more doom and gloom.

“I really don’t know what you hope to accomplish,” he said. "The company will simply fire any man who doesn’t do as he’s told.”

I bore it as long as I could, Ms J. I really tried to listen and to be objective and open. But when I could stand it no longer, I spoke. Yelled, actually.

“You sound to me like a company man, Mr. X. You’ve come in here and told us what we can’t do and what we can’t do and what we can’t do. Why don’t you tell us what we CAN do.”

He didn’t much care for my “company man” comment.

“I can tell you to go fuck yourself,” he said. “I’m not a company man.”

I stood up and approached the table he stood behind. Every eye in the room, I’m sure, was on me. I sliced the air with my finger and pointed at him.

“I think you are, sir. I think you’re nothing more than a giant ego and a company man. You make me fucking sick.”

And with that, I turned and stormed out. I don’t reckon I’ll attend another union meeting, Ms J. We don’t have a union. All we have is an ineffective group of so-called leaders who meet with company officials but do nothing to help us. Nothing, Ms Journal. They take our union dues each month, though. $127.

I’ll put in my time on the railway. I’ll take their money. I’ll run their stupid trains and apply their stupid rules. Yes, sir. No, sir. As you wish, sir. Or ma’am. In a worst case scenario, I’ll remain there until retirement. Six more years.

July 31st 2013. That’s the last day I’ll have to deal with any more selfish, greedy or cruel people. That’s the last day I’ll be subject to their mindless fuckery.

Just 2148 more days, Ms J. 2148 days to freedom.

Tic. Tic. Tic.

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