Back from Prospecting, broke, a car but no gas, a room in an insane asylum, and whatever I do I'm not going back to that damned restaurant. (Not yet, anyways...).
I get on at Temps.
Temps is the short term solution to your companies immediate labour needs. You need a project, you need to throw men at it, brainless work that needs be done? Temps is your answer. "Cash Paid Daily" is their main recruiting slogan. All you need to work there is your own steel toed boots, they'll sell or rent you the hard-hat and safety vest. Show up, do your WHMIS, you're set to go...if you can wield a hammer and you have your own toolbelt you'll earn an extra $2.00 per hour.
First job is in Airdrie, a week or so digging holes in a basement, some contractor has built an entire development on a poorly built up flood plain, all the houses are getting foundation cracks, my job to dig the post-holes for the jacks that will lift the house up while they re-level the foundations and fill the cracks. Dirty, filthy work, head to toe crusted with mud by the end of the day.
The foreman likes me, wonders why I'm a temp, he can get me on full time, $20.00 an hour to start, I tell him of the prospecting.
A lot of people would think I was nuts, maybe he does too. But I've stirred something in him, I can see it burning inside, and finally when he's bursting and can hold it inside no more he tells me:
"My Brother" he begins, and then the conversation turns to aliens, realizing that I'm not adverse the conversation becomes first person, no longer his brother but himself, there are definitely aliens, they appear in the Bible, the burning bush? Aliens, the Pyramids? Aliens, they track each other via LED displays, they've got a TV screen on which they can watch each other, his brother and him, they're going to Mexico to look for treasure, you have to be careful, usually Mexican treasures are guarded by curses, Bears or Giant Snakes that have magical shape-shifting powers, the breaks aren't long enough for him to share his plans, but I'm catching the enthusiasm...
There's another employee, Philip, a Hutterite AWOL from his colony in Manitoba, he's a bit lazy, he's digging 2 holes to my 5, he's the hired help, not a temp, but he's a whiz with a bobcat, a bit simple, touched in the head, wants to get back to the colony, settle down, when there's bobcat work to be done he shows up to work, when it's hand-to-shovel he contrives illness, a bad cold, a flu, ... and there's Francis, forever off looking for local cafes in which to take a dump, bowel problems, as soon as the foreman looks the other way he's off, our lack of porta-potties means he can take an hour, two, to attend the call of nature.
I dig the holes.
We're working in unclosed pits, 4 to 6 feet deep, knee deep in water seeping in from Nose Hill Creek, the power tools give off electric shocks before throwing the breakers, this is the routine: Wake - 4:00 AM, Temps office at 5:00, be on the jobsite at 8:00, finish at 4:30, home, change, shower, sleep, repeat....
You cash in your chit the next day when you show up to work. Temps will cash it up until 6:00, but you don't need to return to the office, once you have the initial cash injection you can wait until the next day when you sign in. It's not worth fighting the rush hour traffic. They charge you a "nominal" $2.00 fee for cashing your "cheque", I've never seen a cheque there, just the cash, hand them your chit, await the slip that details the deductions (gloves, PPE, who to report to), take the cash. Take the assignment.
For those that are up this early, 5:00 AM, they provide bagels, coffee, breakfast. It's important. For a lot of temps this is the only meal of the day, the cash earned will be spent on liquor and whores. Temps stand in line at the desk, they complain of the jobs they're given, they won't go back, they're Union guys, fussy, "too dangerous" they say, they want another job, a line of desperate men forms behind them eager to cash their chits, get to work...
I work the Airdrie job for almost 2 weeks, the house is being jacked up, the foreman wants me hired, doesn't like Philip or Francis, but I'm a temp, his supervisor is suspicious and there's a buy-out with the agency, I'm too old, not worth it.
Steel Toe Boots, Steel Toe Rubber Boots, Hardhat, Safety glasses, Earplugs, I'm becoming far too invested in a job I have no intention of keeping. But I'm learning. Tools, brand names, Hilti, Mikita, Stiletto hammers, Klein pliers, Calgary Fasteners, Marks Work Warehouse, Tim Horton's for the morning coffee (and I wondered who actually went to Tim Horton's? Now I know).
There's the **** warehouse, a warehouse that employs no manual laborers of any sort, when the trucks arrive to be unloaded they merely call Temps, "Swampers" is what they call us, the job description, you unload the truck, put the product onto palettes, wrap in shrink wrap, the warehouse foreman talks with you all the while. About how if you work hard maybe you'll get a job like his. He's maybe 26, got a wife and a kid, spends his days in a Stygian warehouse where not even the dimmest glimmer of sunlight can permeate, he thinks you wanna be him, he's got it all, $18.00 per hour, a pregnant wife and kid, but he worked hard for it, let-him-tell you, he's going to tell you, unload the truck, carry 100, 200 pound boxes, load them onto the palettes, he can drive a forklift, did he tell you? and so it goes...
He's got favorite temps, temps that he requests, temps that are better at listening to his bullshit than others, temps whom he pulls aside and confides his marital problems, they love it, any excuse not to work, be the sympathetic and understanding ear, maybe, if he likes them enough, they'll get a job...
The other temps hate him, the favorite temp, and over lunch plot to have him overthrown.
***
And there's the ************** warehouse, past security and through metal detectors, a quarter mile walk from sunlight, picking cheap automotive parts, mind-numbingly boring, sheet after sheet, you're given an aisle and that's what you pick, walking up and down the aisle, picking the parts, the supervisor tells you that if you're good you'll get taken on full time, $12 per hour, and you keep your thoughts to yourself, but never in a million years, never, ever...Lifetimes are lost in the gloom of dusty aisles before lunch.
They frisk you on the way in, metal detect you, they're worried that someone might try to pack in a firearm, some disgruntled employee who's just come to an epiphany as to how many days have been wasted moving garbage from one landfill to another, on the way out they frisk you again, worried you might be stealing some worthless auto parts, there is nothing in there worth stealing and if there's a thief on site it's the corporation that robs you of your self esteem and sunlight and thinks that $12.00 an hour makes it right...
***
I hate the warehouse jobs. Construction is far better.
***
"You have a car?" Most temps don't, they sleep rough in the neighborhood, or stagger off the first C-Train of the morning. Apparently a car is a big plus, I can go to the further job sites and maybe give a ride to a few of the other, less mobile temps, they'll pay me an extra $3.00 per day. This $3.00 disappears pretty quick, every temp that gets in the car feels it his duty to bum a cigarette, or two, depending on how long the drive is to the jobsite. They promise to get you back, but they disappear, those that ride with you the next day are seldom the ones that rode with you the previous, and when they are they demonstrate a remarkably short memory. "Got a cigarette?" they begin, dirty boots and coveralls climbing into the back of the car...
***
I say he, the overwhelming majority of temps are men. Older, desperate men, laid off, fired, unable or unwilling to find full time employment, men nearing the end of their careers, looking just to fill in the last 10 or 20 years before retirement. There are some young ones too, new arrivals to the city, but if they have potential they give up on Temps pretty quick, find a proper job.
***
September 2012, and it's late in the season, more holes, a big construction site in SE Calgary, huge, multinational oil company building it's Calgary headquarters, 5 buildings in total, this job won't end. Digging holes, crouching amongst the rebar to trowel out gravel and loose dirt, they're pouring the foundations, this job will go on forever. They need temps, more temps, in the beginning they're only using a couple a day, I'm back every day, they're surprised, most temps appear a couple of days and then disappear. Crouched in the rebar cage it's easy to imagine that I'd make a great poster child for some Chinese charity raising money for North American dissidents and political activists, no one would voluntarily do this, and they're testing me on site, most temps simply refuse this work, complain that it's too dangerous, refuse to go back.
It's a sustenance income, cash paid daily, $12, $14 per hour, overtime if you're lucky, I work for the overtime, but with the commission they're paying the temps company the construction bosses don't want to give you the overtime. They'll give it to their own first, their own not always the best or brightest either, but there's a stigma to temps, they're all alcoholics or addicts or homeless people, they're marginal even by construction standards. They're the human shrapnel, the new arrivals to a city that rumour has it is paved with gold, the overlooked and unsightly reminders of the less affluent foundation wealth has built it's conspicuous and lofty towers upon. It's Orwellian, recalls the great depression, queue's of desperate, middle aged men looking for work, the dispatcher still drunk from the two nights before, thick fuzz of beard upon his chin and stinking of liquor, the men, they're jealous, they can't be drunk, there are rules, posted above where you pick up your assignments, no drunkenness, no fighting, no drugs, or they won't be sent out on jobs, this guy, he has his job security and so can show up as drunk as he chooses...
***
The site I'm on, it's growing, the pit is larger, the company has started moving in more resources. From an initial group of perhaps 20 people, including all contractors, there are perhaps now 50, 100, we're told that in a few months there will be 300 men on site. The pit is getting busy, filling with excavators, backhoes, bobcats, there's the sky crane and pads filled with mushroom-capped thickets of rebar, and everywhere there is water that seeps into the site, it's a full time job for a temp to man the pumps, get the water out of the foundations so the concrete can be poured and the holes can be dug...
It's like a scene out of Richard Scarry's busytown.
***
It's been a month on the same jobsite. I was initially paired with another temp, picking him up at the office before heading to the site, but we split when the offer for overtime came, he wanted to get back to the office to cash his chit, the job wasn't done, I chose to stay. It was only another half hour digging, the foreman put me down for an hours overtime, "The company appreciates the teamwork", I beat him back to the office and made another $20 on my days cash. $20 is a lot when you're a temp.They decided they didn't want him back, I got paired with another temp, older, mid 50's, grey hair, lanky, unshaven, charismatic as temps go, "John" was his name. He'd temped for years, between jobs, which I gathered weren't common. He knew all the lady dispatchers, would flirt with them, loved to talk, in the beginning I'd pick him up at the office, but as he lived on the way to the jobsite I began picking him up on the way. He'd make me lunch in exchange, a couple of slices of wonder bread with baloney. He was dirty in a way that made you not want to share his food, but I didn't want to be offensive, that I've shown myself willing to do the overtime has been a big step in improving my temp credibility, now the overtime doesn't stop, 2, 3, 4 times per week, and the company has begun dangling the prospect of a full time job in front of us.
John regales me with his temping stories, one I find curiously appealing, the dildo factory, someplace in the South East where they package up sexual appliances, unload, ready them for distribution throughout the city. It sounds fun, and I'd like the experience, but I'm committed to this construction job, it will in the end prove far more lucrative than any warehouse.
Temp to Perm, every Temps dream, but I'm curiously apprehensive, the weather is starting to get colder, my rubber boots leak, and while it would mean that I'd double my salary I'm pretty sure I don't want to be doing this any length of time...only until Spring, when I can head back to the hills and prospect...
There are more and more temps onsite, you speak to them in the trailer, get their stories, they're on their way back up to Fort Mac, the change in fortunes that saw them go from $10K per month to $12 per hour doesn't bear asking, they all have the memory of better days.
With the overtime comes the demise of the forty hour work week. Weeks now frequently go into the weekends, 60, 70 hour weeks aren't uncommon. Working Saturdays, 8 hours a "half day", I've gone from the frying pan into the fire. John is full of tips, career temp, he's taken on the role of "pumpmaster", loves jumping in puddles, also loves the excuse of being able disappear under the auspices of "checking his pumps", he's forever off laying hoses, extension cords, setting up pumps in new pits for foundation pads, he's my appointed guide, tells me how to "fuck the dog", I'm not interested, time passes quicker working, he's other tips as well, like pouring Cayenne pepper into your boots to keep your feet warm, and plastic bags over your feet to keep them dry, the ground is starting to freeze, snow coming down, and more and more temps are being bused to the site every day to help with the snow removal, pumps, to clean, sweep, shovel, dig.
As the company's presence on the site grows there are new rules, or old rules more strictly enforced, we're forbidden from climbing the towers to do the hoarding, we need fall protection, harnesses, and the company is becoming a little handicapped by it's own shortage of workers, temps, after all, can only do the most unskilled of work. Many are DNR'd - an acronym for "Do Not Return", too lazy, or wanting to beg off the site early, not up to the work, or just not visible doing any work. I imagine the complaint letters they must receive at the Temps office. Eventually the pool of temps is exhausted, old temps now are returned to the site, the foreman remembers, but the need of manpower exceeds his desire to sent them backs, he contents himself with swearing at them and"keeping his eye" on them, only to DNR them again at the end of the day.
Always Oedipus, all of the temps, myself included, we recognize the flaws in the system, the human shrapnel that populate their "talent", but like Oedipus answering the Sphinx we never acknowledge that we ourselves are temps (and the full time construction guys never fail to remind us and exploit it), We recognize the judgement but don't accept the jury..
It's time, Early October, I've shown for every shift on time for a month, and the foreman and site supervisor haul me and John into the office. It's the Temp to Perm job offer. Temp to Perm, The offer, every temps dream (or so I'm told) but I'm curiously apprehensive, my conditions, theirs, they dangle carrots like "you'll be the boss of your own crew of temps" and "you're not getting any younger" they tell me, by way of overcoming my obvious prejudices. I explain that I'm loathe to take the job, come the first days of spring I'll be off to prospect the mountains of BC, gold over $2000 per ounce, they don't like this, need to think upon it. A short meeting and they've decided, they'd be happy to take me on regardless, flattering, really, and hopefully they'll change my mind, the company is a good one but they'd be privileged to have me if only for 6 or 8 months....a few admonishments before hiring me on: "...no showing up smelling like alcohol.... don't smoke up before work ... don't care what you do in your spare time...don't go disappearing on a drunk the first day after you get your first big paycheck...". I'm good on all these, I'm reliable regardless. Reliable Rod they call me.
The transition of Temp to Perm demands some sacrifices. No more cash paid daily, and as I've been anticipating this I've saved a bit of cash, enough to see me through on the liquor and cigarettes. It's 2 weeks until the paycheck, a bit of a stretch, but as the cheque will be roughly double I've decided to sign on right away, a false economy to continue working for Temps, John, on the other hand, hasn't prepared. Every morning he's pinching cigarettes from me, 3 in the morning ride to work, he finds me over lunch, a thin slice of bologna between two slices of Wonder bread, fruit flies crawling all over it, he bums another 2 cigarettes from me and then again at the end of the day. I'm heavily subsidizing his transition to Perm...
The site is picking up, the pit, filling now with bulldozers, graters, earth movers, excavators, pile drivers to lay the foundations, cranes, backhoes, forklifts, 'gators,zoom-booms, everywhere the buzz of power tools, drills, saws, there are temps whose full time job it is to lay out and collect extension cords, sweep trash, shovel snow off the decks, the concrete jungle grows. From a frozen pit in the ground sprout rebar forests, mushroom capped thickets form and grow into towers, the company pays for my fall protection, my gas and other certifications, I become the "Core" guy, in charge of hoarding in the towers, wearing 30 pounds of harness and equipment, a couple of the construction workers as my apprentices. First up the tower to wait while the concrete is poured, hoard in the tower, the column, set the heaters, repeat...
My fingers pop through the tips of my gloves, blackened and rough, split from the rebar tie wire, the company is good, doeskin gloves for the asking, I go through 2 pairs a week, we're told to find a heater whenever you need one to warm up, 40 below and 100 feet hanging in the air, though, and a heater isn't convenient. The job is rough, it's cold, as Calgary winters go, and the hours, frequently as many as 70 per week, are too long, but I'm consoling myself with thoughts of large cheques, and clear mountain rivers glimmering with gold...
Payday, and true to the foremans warning going to pick up John the next day he doesn't show up, never shows up again, the classic temp-to-perm story of someone with far too much money in his pocket going off on a month long bender. I'm permanent now, and there's one monkey off my back, and a mere 6 months until Spring.