The Motherfucker’s Got Morals

Finishing my shift rather late in the day I decided to stop by Network to see Boomer and Dave before heading home. When I was working swing shift I used to go over to their department to bug them late at night. Since switching over to day shift I rarely see those kooks anymore which kinda sucks. I miss working the same hours and seeing those guys. After packing up my junk I walked through Building 2 across the darkened basketball court and re-entered our rat maze of production areas on the top floor of Building 3. Making a left turn off the main walk through I passed Network’s vacant assembly line and plunked myself down in an empty desk chair that was left alone in the middle of their test rack area. Boomer, Dave, and Shoelaces were sitting around bullshitting. Once in a while Dave or Boomer would glance over at a screen keeping a wary eye on tests in progress. When and if a unit made it far enough one of those guys would scoot over to change equipment hookups on a front panel and hit a button on the rack keyboard to keep things moving.

It’s no secret to my close friends here that I have been fixing damaged test instruments in my spare time and asking for permission from my immediate management team to take them off site for personal use. I talk about some of this with these guys because I trust them and they seem to think what I am up to is cool. My recent score of a scrap signal generator was huge. I let Boomer, Dave, and Shoelaces in on the story a few weeks after it happened. They’re not going to run off and blab about it to anyone so no worries.

About an hour after I invaded the test area for a visit it was time to go home for the day. The guys got up and walked with me towards shipping and receiving. I rarely park my car on that side of the factory campus but it’s close to where Boomer and Dave always park their rides to enter Building 3. As we reached the middle of the building Boomer starts talking about a manager that keeps a secret stash of booze hidden in his office area. Sounded like a tall tale to me. We have company parties and beer busts when everybody is given the nod of approval to get hammered, but those beer busts are few and far between these days. Smelling a lie I encouraged Boomer to prove said manager was indeed playing Secret Squirrel with some booze. Boomer readily agreed and like a dutiful tour guide he walked our small group through a gauntlet of cubicles to a double set of tall gray metal book cases. He pointed to a set of drawers and told me to open them.

I tugged on the top drawer. As I looked inside I laughed. The jackass, whoever he was stocked the shit out of that thing. I couldn’t see the bottom of that drawer it was so full of beer. And it was the good stuff too. Red Tail Ale, six packs of Sierra Nevada, Lagunitas, there was even some Boont. This was the jet fuel of good beers. The motherlode. No domestic swill rotgut like Budweiser or Coors was to be found. Management at Bill and Dave’s company is always bombarding us with company propaganda about liquor not being allowed on-site. That’s the hypocrisy of our company leadership. Do as I say, do not do as I do and don’t mention anything about all the coke we put up our noses in the parking lot back in the eighties. Standing there looking at this superior stash of tasty oat sodas I was considering swiping some for myself. I did not however. I kept my hands in my pockets. Boomer sensed what I was thinking though. Like an invisible devil floating off my left shoulder with horns coming out of his forehead and a pitchfork in his hand he began speaking in a low voice.

“You should steal some from this guy. Nobody will know who took it. Go on, do it. You know you want to. Just reach in and grab a six pack. It’s yours, man. What are you waiting for?”

I shook my noggin and pushed the drawer shut.

Boomer was amazed. I said, “I can’t steal someone’s beers. It’s wrong, dude.”

As those words were leaving my mouth Boomer got a big grin across his face. He looked at me, Shoelaces, and Dave then laughed out loud in my direction. Then he said to all of us, “Well what do you know. Factory Peasant will take a twenty thousand dollar instrument but he won’t steal another man’s beer. I guess the motherfucker’s got morals after all!”

Shoelaces practically spit up he was laughing so hard.

All three of them were laughing at me. I could tell my face was turning red. I guess it’s true though. I got a moral or two.


~ by factorypeasant on March 4, 2008.

3 Responses to “The Motherfucker’s Got Morals”

  1. ya well the difference is those beers would be getting drinked up, the test equipment would just sit and stay broken.

  2. Hahahaha I was wondering how you were going to tell this tale. When I said that I felt kinda bad cuz I wasnt sure you were on to my sense of humor yet and I was pretty sure you wouldnt take it so I guess you could say I set you up. I mean if your going to pilfer why take a 8 buck item when the big buck gear is lying around waiting for a new home. But that bad feeling quickly wore off and I got a good laugh.


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