Tuesday, September 11, 2007

What I remember most.

9/11/01 was further punctuated at the Star Gazette by a series of phone calls alerting us to the coincidental death of a coworker. Carolyn was returning from Atlantic City when she was overcome by asthma.

We could have used her that awful day; she would have shared the burden of the Extra Edition. The younger workers were in too much shock to work. They whined and cried, and generally were useless. Who could blame them?

For years, not a day would go by when we didn't miss Carolyn. Lately, it's more like weeks, but we still miss her terribly. New employees work even less. I don't know if it's an age thing, or something more insidious, like culture.

When you lose an Old School workchum, things are never the same. Last night, my boss raised the question of whether or not we are victims of ageism. Left to work nights, the toughest shift of all, while the younger folk pass the day (I wouldn't much call it working) carrying less than half the load. You see, it's easier to let things slide when not on deadline. It's easy to go home, leaving unsolved problems, when the central office isn't yet demanding an immediate solution.

We would find the solutions: Carolyn, GF, and me. We were once called the ATeam. I remember. But memories don't count for anything today. They are just sad.

Little Pond


Granny J said...

I recall a similar time back in the mid-to-late 60s when we were pretty desperate to add to our staff. The fresh-faced youngsters who came to us right out of college were quite full of themselves and couldn't be bothered with the S**t work, which we old-timers had to keep on doing rather than unburden ourselves after having paid our dues.

pb said...

We've been warned again. Another round of terminations is on the way. It happened the other night in Binghamton. Fortunately, the ones left simply closed ranks and carried the load.

I've been informed that I must now work weekends, probably at least twice a month.

Better than a layoff. Certainly. But those others are still doing less than nothing, and they are still here. No one's making them work the weekends.

Frankly, no ones making them work.