ALMOST INVISIBLE
Short Story
The low-pitched buzzer hums at 3:00 p.m., someone yells “Break-time!”
I turn my head and look for my co-worker, Brian. He is late but supposed to relief me at this large, four-colour printing press. He believes it is OK to be late, since I let it usually pass, perhaps more so today, because I’ll be laid off. For some coworkers, I’m already gone, for others I was never here, nor seen.
“George, go on your last, little break, before the big one, come on!” a voice shouts behind me through the clicking noise of machines. Finally, here is Brian.
“Thanks, man. Right on time,” is my reply. I don’t know why I have to lie. On the other hand, it could be taken for sarcasm. Either perception is fine with me.
Slowly I walk to the far end of the printing plant where the noise eases off. I try to relax for fifteen minutes. In addition, I don’t have to answer testy questions, listen to plant’s politics or play mind games with other employees in the lunchroom. Often, since working here for eight years, I have found retreat in this remote area.
Looking back, before they hired me, I completed a two-year printing course. It was a mid-life change of occupation that wasn’t any easier, not without less competition than being a salesperson, which I hated. For a long time I believed in the short Quotation that said: ‘A Salesman is a man, way out there in the blue, riding a smile and shoe shine.’ I finally realized that I could never fake it. Nevertheless, after I made the change, I proved to management, and myself at least so I thought, that my competence was equal to others, whose position is by now regrettably superior to mine.
Seven years ago, I applied the first time for a printer’s position. I was confident about handling the work, although management rarely entrusted me with this responsibility. On the other hand, no one ever complained about my production, when I had to replace someone temporarily, as far as I know. But a promotion passed me by; it went instead to a young man, who was hired to help me out. In no time, they put him on a training program. He is lucky, I said to myself. I thought, management must have been aware of the fact, that, since the foreman indirectly asked me to help - to teach the man - consequently I could do anything he was about to learn from me. However, I was wrong, not knowing that the fortunate candidate was the son of the foreman’s friend. No one made any mention about this promotion in the lunchroom. It was not really anyone’s concern but mine.
Since then, I come periodically to this considerably quiet end of this printing plant. Of course, I don’t have to look exactly for secluded places. Plenty of instances have shown that I’m even unnoticed in a crowd. On the first day of my employment here, I said, “Good morning” to a co-worker who passed by without a reply. The same thing happened on three other occasions. Something about me must have been unobservable. I stopped addressing him. However, by now, some years later, the same person might consider me as a strange fellow who dislikes him for no reason. I had learned - to forgive my neighbour multiple times, yet I couldn’t bring myself around to break the ice. We work in different departments and pass each other only occasionally. The situation is not about forgiving, to like or dislike. What makes matters worse is, he may be a gentleman. Yet, our encounter is comparable to passing other things that play absolutely no role in one’s life or vice versa - comparable to the point of having vanished.
At yearly company picnics, some employees took camera snapshots. They displayed all photos in the lunchroom. Quite frequently, I wasn’t even in one of them, although I’ve never missed this event.
Four years ago, they trained a co-worker, junior to me, as a printer. Dennis, the head printer who was about to go into retirement liked him. When he was asked, who would replace him, Dennis pointed at me, saying, “George will probably take my place.”
Self-confidently, I applied for the position. However, when they held the retirement party, they had given the trainee the promotion. I made an appointment with the manager.
“May I ask you, why my last application has been overlooked?”
“Oh yes, that. Listen, George, don’t get me wrong, no doubt, you are a good worker but the management felt you haven’t got enough initiative. Understandable, you’re past middle age. We need people, extremely willing. Furthermore, we’ve never seen you do precise and responsible operations. And I hate to say this but I have watched you mop up spilled ink or throw away hundreds of printed sheets that were out of register.”
Of course, that was typical: They could miss me with cameras at parties; I could remain invisible when biding a ‘good morning’ to a co-worker or not listened to in a group discussion or I could have someone’s back turned toward me when I would sit down, as if I wasn’t there. Getting my pay cheque one day later because I couldn’t be found; also, replaced a printer on sick-leave, then set up a perfect register on the four-colour printing press and have a flawless run for a day that goes unnoticed. Surely, but when I mope up ink, once in eight years, ink that someone else had spilled and left because they couldn’t care less, and when I threw out sheets, messed up even by the foreman, hallelujah! I suddenly was visible, on record - seen by the almighty management!
A year later, they posted another promotion on the board. Co-workers kept saying, George, don’t give up now - keep applying or they’ll have an excuse. I overheard someone remark, ‘oh, him? No chance. He doesn’t have a friend at this place. Were they talking about me? I would find out soon enough. History kept repeating itself. Management didn’t even give me a formal reply. One day, an apprentice began to give me orders - that was it. Yes, they finally must have been talking about me.
Two years ago, a printer got sick and died within two months. They asked me to replace him in the last five weeks with no ado on my part. Nevertheless, when the position became vacant, the foreman introduced me to Patricia, newly employed. Taking me aside, he said, “George, I know what you’re thinking, but you should know, they had put great pressure on me to give her this job. Please, leave me out of it!”
Patricia came from a small factory that went broke. No question, she knew her stuff, and so did I. So, what was the point?
A few months later, they had told me, she said to someone, ‘George may not be very sociable. He walks around with a chip on his shoulder. Perhaps he resents my skill because I’m a woman.’
One day, I stopped the manager between paper skids: “May I have a word with you, Mr. Gray?”
“Certainly, what is on your mind, George?”
“Look, Sir, you must be aware that I keep applying for a promotion but I’m not getting anywhere.”
“Yes, I know but unfortunately it is not in my power.” A perfectly innocent smile flashed over his face. “You know that we have to comply with the board’s decision - a democratic process. We work with a point system as fair as we can. Concerning our last hiring of Patricia, if that is what you’re inferring - I doubt you quarrel with her performance.”
“No, Sir, not at all. I only thought that my own ability and years of service to the company would rate some consideration as well.”
“They do, George, please. However, we were in a tight spot this time.”
“How is that?”
“Well, the Department of Human Resources has accused the company of discriminating against women. We had to show a good example.”
“You mean, on my account.” “George, we had no choice.” Again, this redeeming smile surfaced.
“I see. Mr. Gray, let’s forget for a minute my promotion. Would you consider a 5 percent raise then?”
“Did you say - more money?”
“Yes, I did, matter of fact.”
“I hear that you have paid off your house . . . “
I nodded, “so to speak.”
“Your wife is working and two children just about grown up, making some kind of a living.”
“Not quite - one is still at University.”
“That’s good, George. You see we give raises usually to people who have young families or are bachelors who have to pay high rent. Everything is so expensive. O.K., we will see.”
That was the last of it and I have never seen anything, particularly not more money.
Looking at my watch I realize, break-time is nearly over. What is the sense of reminiscing? Last year, at least, I made my point. My pride is still in tact. One of the printers received a better offer somewhere else, which opened a position. This time I decided not to apply. Nobody approached or encouraged me. Just as well. They hired Mr. Gray’s nephew who claimed ten years experience in the business but constantly keeps asking for advice. It turned out, he never really worked on a four-colour printing press. Any problem I solve for him, he claims the idea as his own, already earned a few handshakes.
“George, here you are,” a voice calls behind me. I turn around. It is the manager, Mr Gray. “So, how are you?”
“Should I say, fine?”
“Listen, George, I’m sorry that we have to lay you off. Believe me, it wasn’t my idea. Of course, some people in management noticed that you showed no interest in a last year’s promotion. That may have hurt you. We need people with competitive spirit and pride in their work.”
And I’m thinking, what do you know, they have noticed me, after all; they noticed me when I stopped to take notice of them. Anyhow, it proved, I wasn’t totally invisible.
“But besides that,” Mr. Gray continued, “the major factor is, as you know, too many plants are closing. The country doubtless is in a recession. Our company feels the pinch. Top performance from our employees is essential. That’s the only way we can match our competitors and increase our production . . . “
It may appear as if I’m listening but I stare by Mr. Gray’s face, thinking about my old, stinking job as a salesman. What he doesn’t know is, had I returned to my old, cunning tricks when I sold thrash, which I despised at the end, very likely I could have become management. I might also be someone that everyone can see and possibly dislikes. On the contrary, someone else would now be on his way, out the door. However, I have promised to myself never again to endorse the line . . . ’in the blue, riding a smile and shoe shine.’ Without, now I can sleep nights.
“Well, good luck,” I hear Mr. Gray conclude his explanation. “You don’t have to stay until the end of shift. Leave anytime.” Again, I notice this, to my eye, exuberant smile, slightly embarrassed.
“A good point,” I reply, only half listening, set myself in motion and reach almost invisibly the change room.
***
