Wonders and Woe.

Greetings, Citizens!

As of this writing, I am sitting in the dinky library in downtown Norfolk, Nebraska. Yup! You read right: Norfolk-fucking-Nebraska. And how did I get here? Well, gather 'round kiddos and I will weave you a tale of adventure and misery and heartbreak....

A little over a week ago, rented a small studio apartment and moved in with Juan Holguin under the guise of romantic bliss. But, fate, it seemed, would decree otherwise. On the second day when I returned home from work, Juan had some ditsy blond with pimples and gigantic tits named Sabrina moved in and I had to sleep on the floor. What can I do? He paid for the apartment. That was the last straw. I ranted to Keith, that big fat hick from the Mission and he convinced me to go to Nebraska and work in a slaughterhouse. At the time, since I had a low paying and pathetic job and I was now supporting Juan and Sabrina, it seemed a fantastic idea. So, the next morning bright and early, Keith and I went to the El Paso Unemployment Office, signed up and the following morning we were on a bus to Norfolk, Nebraska.

It seemed Keith had been thrown out of the mission for attacking Big Gay Eddie with a can of Lysol. Big Gay Eddie was in charge of cleaning the dorm. Keith was a gross slob, so Eddie sprayed him down with a can of Lysol and Keith took the can and hit Eddie with it, which in turn, caused Keith to be “eighty-sixed” from the mission property.

So, Kieth revealed where he had been sleeping the last few days; at this little camp under a freeway overpass next to the train tracks. It was a filthy vermin infested area of cardboard shacks and musty sleeping bags inhabited by drug addicts and alcoholics. The mission’s throwaways. The area was nicknamed Fraggle Rock. Keith slept on an old couch that dug the springs into his back. As the day turned into the night I sat there staring into the big bonfire that somebody made out of discarded furniture and Keith went on and on about going to work at this meat processing plant in Nebraska. He really talked me into that stupid scheme of his. So that next morning, Keith, myself and two other guys from under the bridge went and signed up.

One of the young men that went with us was a handsome nineteen-year old Irish kid from New York named Richard O’Herly. He dressed and spoke in the manner of those teen pop boy bands—baggy clothes and ‘Yo yo yo’—a black boy stuck in a lily-white ass. When I first met him he was under a torn and dusty blanket next to Keith’s couch fucking some skanky emaciated Mexican girl. He stopped long enough to say “Hello”. I just nodded and lit a Lucky Strike. From what I gathered he was an aspiring rap artist and a pathological liar. The other younger kid that went with us was a little rat looking hayseed from Illinois named Todd Berch. Basically he was Richards tag along. Along with about forty Mexicans, our little group was interviewed at the unemployment office and then told next morning to be in front of the building at 6:30 a.m. to catch the bus to Nebraska.

I returned home to get my things. Juan was surprised and saddened that I was leaving. I packed my old suitcase, said good bye and left. Asshole.

Of coarse the next morning, the bus didn’t leave until 9:00 or so in the morning. During that time, my new friends and I talked and joked and got to know each other better. Richards estranged girlfriend wanted to go, but they wouldn’t let her. Which was of coarse a blessing, because all she did was whine and complain and my God was she ugly to look at. We also met these two black guys named King and Cameron.

King was an old gray haired man from Alabama, reminded me of Morgan Freeman; Cameron was from Chicago, a young guy with a gold tooth and a muscular build that looked a dead ringer for Mike Tyson and who had a drinking problem. He said he was running from his wife. Right. I had to play it cool with these guys. Most were viciously homophobic, so I had to hide my homosexuality. I accepted the fact that it was going to be a long cold winter, but just concentrated on all the money I was promised by Kieth that I was to make.

At 9:45, the big ass bus finally took off. At first, our spirits were very high. The bus was packed with Mexican migrant workers hoping to make good money to send back to their families. Everyone talked and joked. Myself I just sat back, relaxed and enjoyed the scenery.

As we traveled non-stop through New Mexico and climbed up towards Oklahoma, I was interested in the various small towns and Indian pueblos we passed through. The houses and buildings in one nameless town were all in adobe style architecture. Indian crafts and murals. Young handsome Indian boys stared out at the bus silent and immobile, under black Stetsons. In Oklahoma and Kansas it was the vast rolling prairies. For miles around us there was nothing but flat grassy land. The wind causing ripples in the green brown grass as it would the waters of a vast sea. We eventually stopped in the late afternoon at a Golden Corral Buffet Restaurant somewhere in Kansas. It was all paid for and everybody ate until we all waddled back to the bus and slept like gorged hogs.

The bus lumbered through out the night and I rarely slept. In all my journeys I’ve always had problems sleeping on a moving vehicle. The gringos on board laughed and joked and made such a ruckus late into the night that the bus driver actually stopped the bus and screamed at us in Spanish to shut up.

At the crack of dawn we entered Norfolk, Nebraska. It was about two minutes on the tequila side of sunrise. So early the bluebirds hadn’t even brushed their teeth yet. It was the type of morning that Homer referred in The Odyssey as ‘rosy-fingered dawn.” Homer, who was blind and had no editor, referred over and over again to “rosy-fingered dawn.” Pretty soon, dawn began to think of herself as rosy-fingered: the old doctrine of life imitating art.

The surrounding countryside was cattle farms and flat wheat and cornfields. A few old building sprung up here and there. We drove directly to Beef of America, the meat processing plant that was going to be the place of employment for me in the upcoming months. As I gazed at that smelly steel factory, my hopes swelled like the others at all the money we were going to make. As soon as we passed the security gates of this cold, menacing and foul smelling factory, we were told to disembark and all meet in the intake room.

After signing various paperwork, we were assigned our uniforms and briefed by an instructor. This little mustachioed man was all smiles and jokes and was an excellent motivational speaker. Shameless faker. For some reason he thought I possessed a great deal of strength and assigned me as a “Shanker.” At the time I had no idea what that was but he jovially assured me I would find out tomorrow. After all of us were processed through orientation, we were then told we’d be taken to our housing.

So, loaded back up on another bus, we were issued a card with our house number on it. The house that Keith and I were assigned to was a three-bedroom pre-fab unit and it was already occupied with six other Mexicans. Mexicans that didn’t speak a bit of English. And they were very concerned why gringos decided to work at this very stressful and difficult job.

My roommate was an unfortunate little weasel looking guy while Keith was blessed with the cantankerous old fart. The nights spent there were crazy madness. After work the Mexicans would get shit faced on beer and then fight among themselves. Knocking the crap out of each other and smashing several items until crashing to the floor and falling into a sleeping drunken stupor amid the broken furniture and shards of glass.

After a fitful and freezing night of troubled sleep came the first day on the job. Keith and I got dressed in our gear, we both looked like mad scientist with the long white coats, rubber gloves, rubber boots, and goggles, and walked the two blocks to the factory. It was fucking hell. Ten hours of monotonous boredom. It was the smelliest most disgusting job I have ever had! My job was to slice up the ass part of the cow as it came speeding down the conveyor belt, entrails dangling, and dripping blood.

My supervisor was a white guy named Jeff. He was a Nazi drunk on power. If we didn’t work fast enough he would scream abuse constantly in our ears. If you disagreed in anyway you were written up or fired on the spot. The smell was horrendous. Keith puked twice. Each day I would return home covered in gore and cow’s blood. If a cow fell off the belt it was up to me to pick up the carcass, carry it to the washer, cleanse it and then put it back on the belt without it touching the ground. Could you picture anyone carrying around a beheaded, gutted cow by himself with nothing but hooks to help him. I think not.

After the third day, I had to make an appraisal of the situation. I quit.

So, that was this morning and I have to wait until Monday to get my paycheck. Ugh. It looks as if I will be returning to El Paso sooner than I thought. I am going to check out this town and will write the report manana.

By the way, flushed those insidious mindfuck pills down the toilet back in El Paso. I like the way I am. I suit me just fine, cabrones.

And slowly the world spins...