Notice of Closing
March 21 was going to be a workday like any other. Up by 5 out the door by 6. I caught my carpool ride and was at the textile plant and clocked in by 7. The production floor was loud and hot as usual and I was pulling cloth out of my machine the way I had for more than a year. The morning went without incident, which made time linger on. I was bored and the hours moved by at a crawl. By lunchtime a rumor floated by that a class of new trainees had come in for orientation only to be sent home again without explanation. Strange, I thought if it was true, but we had been having rolling lay-offs since Thanksgiving. The last thing I thought we needed was new hires. At 2 in the afternoon the shift supervisor came by each station to announce a meeting at 2:30. Everyone was going. The meeting was held where Christmas and Thanksgiving dinners were held in years past. My friend called out in the excited tone that comes from realization “They’re shutting us down!”. The supervisor said nothing and walked away. My skin was cold now in the heat of the plant and my stomach took a twist. Rumor now hopped from one person to another like a fast game of tag, you’re it. Gallows humor prevailed for a while as we congratulated ourselves for being kicked out onto the street without a job. Offers of cheap homes and rented children were exchanged amongst people worried about how to pay for both.
2:30 came and it was time to make the long walk to the meeting area. We crossed an open courtyard, passed rows of empty cloth buckets. Back inside we filed in front of idle machinery and equipment knowing that it may never be used here again. Managers and office workers were spread along the path like breadcrumbs ushering us toward the inevitable as if we might bolt toward an exit and escape. We arrived in a giant storeroom filled with cotton bales. Humor was still attempted but it was no longer funny and the strain of forming a polite smile was more than most could muster. Silence settled on us like a heavy blanket and we waited. They asked us again and again to push forward and together to make it easier to hear. The bowstring of tension was being pulled tighter and tighter with each passing minute. I bent my knees and concentrated on taking breaths. To pass out now would not only be embarrassing but overly dramatic. Still, it was taking those in charge far too long to come out and say what they had to say.
A flush of warms waved over the crowd as the words “cease operations by August 20th” were read by the man in the tie speaking into the karaoke microphone. All other details had no value. Information would be handed out at the door as you leave and that was the end of it. We all went back to our duties as if nothing had changed. We made adjustments to our equipment and made inspections of folds of cloth like we had done everyday. For me it was back to a workday like any other I have had in the past year and a half. Others went back to duties performed for more than 12 years. From 3 o’clock until 7, we did our jobs and wondered about the future.
2:30 came and it was time to make the long walk to the meeting area. We crossed an open courtyard, passed rows of empty cloth buckets. Back inside we filed in front of idle machinery and equipment knowing that it may never be used here again. Managers and office workers were spread along the path like breadcrumbs ushering us toward the inevitable as if we might bolt toward an exit and escape. We arrived in a giant storeroom filled with cotton bales. Humor was still attempted but it was no longer funny and the strain of forming a polite smile was more than most could muster. Silence settled on us like a heavy blanket and we waited. They asked us again and again to push forward and together to make it easier to hear. The bowstring of tension was being pulled tighter and tighter with each passing minute. I bent my knees and concentrated on taking breaths. To pass out now would not only be embarrassing but overly dramatic. Still, it was taking those in charge far too long to come out and say what they had to say.
A flush of warms waved over the crowd as the words “cease operations by August 20th” were read by the man in the tie speaking into the karaoke microphone. All other details had no value. Information would be handed out at the door as you leave and that was the end of it. We all went back to our duties as if nothing had changed. We made adjustments to our equipment and made inspections of folds of cloth like we had done everyday. For me it was back to a workday like any other I have had in the past year and a half. Others went back to duties performed for more than 12 years. From 3 o’clock until 7, we did our jobs and wondered about the future.
posted by kamuizot at 9:33 AM
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