New Hire

Impress the Crew

Hayes stood at attention in Foreman Simon Sledge's cramped, sweltering office. He kept his hands folded politely behind the small of his back, while his indigo eyes were focused, determined, unwavering, and glued to the crowded bulletin board hanging on the wall just over Simon's head.

The foreman observed the poise of his young interviewee with a smirk. He was wearing a frayed but lovingly maintained khaki overcoat that was buttoned over his torso. It was also four or five sizes too big for the lad and stretched down near to his ankles, where one could just spy the kid's weathered black jeans over his orange and black checkered sneakers.

"You can take a seat." he said.

"Thank you, sir, but I'll if that's all right." said the young man. His eyes remained firmly affixed to the board, staring at its bevy of jumbled paperwork without seeing them.

Simon leaned back in his creaking swivel chair and folded his hands in his lap. For a moment he stared at the lad while they both listened to the ceiling fan making its slow revolutions over their heads, stirring up the thick air without cooling it down, uttering its muted "thorp, thorp, thorp" all the while.

While he looked the boy up and down, the foreman noticed the tiny black wire feeding up from the collar of Haye's overcoat and plugged into his right ear.

Probably some newfangled music machine, he thought to himself.

"I appreciate the gesture, I really do, but you're makin' me a bit nervous. Please, for me, take a load off." Simon gestured at the chair to the boy's right.

With a sidelong glance, the boy reached over, pulled the chair so that it was perfectly centered Simon's small, overburdened desk, and then sat in it tentatively. His posture was stiff, and he struggled to sit up as straight as he could in his wobbling seat.

"Thanks." Simon said as he leaned forward, digging through the mess of papers choking his desktop, before he fished out a particular sheaf of ragged, dog-eared notebook paper. On its front side was a meticulous handwritten resume that provided almost no information, save for the boy's name, address and brief, barely existent work history. The script was so neat and clear that it made Simon self-conscious about his own near-illegible chicken scratch.

"Says here you've done some repair work. Can you elaborate on that?" Simon asked.

The boy looked taken aback, locking eyes with Simon momentarily before raising them over the man's head a second time, his fierce concentration coiling his brow.

"Yes, sir. I do work for a few shops around the crust. I'm self-taught and they treat me fair, but they won't take me on full-time because of my age. I'm looking for something more permanent." Hayes said, his gaze darting to and from Simon's eye line. He quavered as he fought to maintain the straightness in his back.

Simon nodded. His resume stated that the boy was 16 and it looked like it was telling the truth. Most of the youngsters looking for work tried to lie about their age, so this was a promising start.

"Do me another favor and relax a little, you look like a spring being pulled straight." Simon said, and grinned.

The young man looked vexed but did as he was asked and uncoiled himself before easing his spine into his chair, which promptly went over backwards and took him with it.

Simon rose from his seat, but before he could stand, the boy was on his feet and dusting himself off. As he pulled the chair upright, looking more embarrassed than angry (another mark in his favor), Simon watched the boy's long, coiled braids of golden blonde hair began to levitate, seemingly held aloft by the glossy orange pearls knotted into the ends. The pearls projected a low, comforting hum as they hovered in place.