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A visit from the Sarge
Jan. 18th, 2005 08:48 amSgt. Cheese wanted a word with me.
I can tell what a driver thinks of me by the way they park their handtruck. Sarge was parking his too close. He penned me in behind his stack of goat goudas. He was dressed in camouflage like always, topped off by a camo baseball hat with his Sargent stripes sown to the front. Like always.
My co-worker in the walk-in fridge gave him that nickname. After the driver dropped off his load one day, Nicknamegiver* walked over to me and asked in his SoCal accent, "Dude, what’s up with Sgt. Cheese?" I see three different drivers and the owner of the company regularly so Nicknamegiver and I both got into the habit of asking them "Hey where’s Sgt. Cheese today" when someone other than the Sarge was delivering. They all loved it though the one with the Raiders tattoo informed me that he was actually "Sgt. Major Cheese". "If you call him Sargent, he’ll correct you."
They all loved it because none of them really liked him. They all, except for the owner who we are more careful with talking to out of general worker solidarity, regaled us with stories of the Sarge copping an attitude and trying to order them around on the job, while regularly doing things like smashing the side mirror of this truck or accidentally filling the tank with diesel.
But again, Sarge had something on his mind. "So I’ve got a bone to pick with you. Why does that sign say ‘workers only’?" he asked, pointing to the sign marking the retail floor from backstock.
"Well, You’re working, right?" I replied. Make him say it, I thought.
"Yeah, but when you write it like that it looks communist."
There’s something so quaint about the Red Menace these days. So much simpler than those terrorists. Much more European and comfortable. It’s only us old folks who can really remember it anymore. Luckily I can spar with anti-Communists in my sleep because I had a lot of practice in those days when us communists were doing things like trying to end apartheid in South Africa.
"Why doesn’t it say ‘Employees Only’?" Sgt. Cheese continued.
"Because we’re not employees. We all own and run this place." We’ve discussed parts of this before so this wasn’t an entirely new conversation, even if it was somewhat more direct. Further discussion of workplace democracy and our decision making process followed but I’m editing that out for length.
"Then maybe it should say ‘Shareholders Only’."
"Well, that makes it sound like we just sit around and count our money all day."
"Well, why not ‘worker-owners’?"
"Hmmmm, that’s probably the most accurate. But it’s kinda long. So we shortened it to ‘workers’"
"Grumble," grumbled Sgt. Cheese as he grabbed his handtruck and gave up.
*Nicknamegiver started calling me "Gunter" after maintenance put up sheet metal around the cheese wall to prevent handtruck and water damage. He said it made the department look like a German industrial club and that I needed a German name to go with it..
I can tell what a driver thinks of me by the way they park their handtruck. Sarge was parking his too close. He penned me in behind his stack of goat goudas. He was dressed in camouflage like always, topped off by a camo baseball hat with his Sargent stripes sown to the front. Like always.
My co-worker in the walk-in fridge gave him that nickname. After the driver dropped off his load one day, Nicknamegiver* walked over to me and asked in his SoCal accent, "Dude, what’s up with Sgt. Cheese?" I see three different drivers and the owner of the company regularly so Nicknamegiver and I both got into the habit of asking them "Hey where’s Sgt. Cheese today" when someone other than the Sarge was delivering. They all loved it though the one with the Raiders tattoo informed me that he was actually "Sgt. Major Cheese". "If you call him Sargent, he’ll correct you."
They all loved it because none of them really liked him. They all, except for the owner who we are more careful with talking to out of general worker solidarity, regaled us with stories of the Sarge copping an attitude and trying to order them around on the job, while regularly doing things like smashing the side mirror of this truck or accidentally filling the tank with diesel.
But again, Sarge had something on his mind. "So I’ve got a bone to pick with you. Why does that sign say ‘workers only’?" he asked, pointing to the sign marking the retail floor from backstock.
"Well, You’re working, right?" I replied. Make him say it, I thought.
"Yeah, but when you write it like that it looks communist."
There’s something so quaint about the Red Menace these days. So much simpler than those terrorists. Much more European and comfortable. It’s only us old folks who can really remember it anymore. Luckily I can spar with anti-Communists in my sleep because I had a lot of practice in those days when us communists were doing things like trying to end apartheid in South Africa.
"Why doesn’t it say ‘Employees Only’?" Sgt. Cheese continued.
"Because we’re not employees. We all own and run this place." We’ve discussed parts of this before so this wasn’t an entirely new conversation, even if it was somewhat more direct. Further discussion of workplace democracy and our decision making process followed but I’m editing that out for length.
"Then maybe it should say ‘Shareholders Only’."
"Well, that makes it sound like we just sit around and count our money all day."
"Well, why not ‘worker-owners’?"
"Hmmmm, that’s probably the most accurate. But it’s kinda long. So we shortened it to ‘workers’"
"Grumble," grumbled Sgt. Cheese as he grabbed his handtruck and gave up.
*Nicknamegiver started calling me "Gunter" after maintenance put up sheet metal around the cheese wall to prevent handtruck and water damage. He said it made the department look like a German industrial club and that I needed a German name to go with it..
