Friday Afternoon

I didn’t work yesterday afternoon. I went in at my usual time, but my train had been cancelled. They were unable to find a conductor. I’m assuming that all the management types had already donned their work boots and crossing guard vests and were out on other trains. There seems often to be a shortage of brakemen and conductors, especially on Friday afternoons. Most engineers tend to work while conductors book rest.

I’m glad the train was cancelled, Ms J. I’m sorry for the commuters who were inconvenienced, but I got the afternoon off with pay.

I know.

But I refuse to feel guilty. I was there, ready to work. It’s not my fault the train was cancelled. If I’d taken the afternoon off on my own accord, I would not have been paid. That’s what the union has done for us. And that seems fair in my opinion. And management? They’re paid seven days a week, whether they show up or not. They get paid their FULL SALARY even when they’re off sick or on vacation. Must be nice.

But here’s what’s not nice:

It’s not nice to have to work a train with a supervisor on board who’s filling in when the regular guy is unavailable. It’s difficult and unbearably frustrating to work with someone who hasn’t the slightest idea how to do the job, yet looks for ways to discipline us for not doing it properly. They expect us to baby-sit them and help them get through the shift with minimal delays.

I used to help them, Ms J, when they emerged from their carpeted offices and came out into the trenches. It didn’t happen often, but when management people worked as conductors or brakemen, I would offer assistance and advice. I’d hold their hands and help them along. But not now. Not anymore. No one does. And delays of thirty minutes or more are not uncommon.

If management would stop harassing us, and just leave us alone to do the jobs we’ve been doing for decades, if they would treat us respectfully and like competent adults and not like school children, we’d be glad to help them when they have to work on the trains. And there would no delays.

As I entered the building, I met Don E., the supercilious supervisor who’d conducted my investigation last month.

“Can you do me a favour, Dale? We’ve cancelled job 10, but we’re looking for an engineer for job 44. Do you want to go on job 44?”

A favour. The same guy who had done his best to intimidate me last month, was now asking for a favour. He must have more dick than Nerve Tracy!!

“No thank you, sir,” I said. “I reckon I’ll just go home.”

I’m sure Jesus and his momma love him, Ms J, but I still think he’s an arsehole.

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