Monday, 17 October 1977

9:20 AM

“Knocked him back for being too old,” said Gladys.

“But I thought he was only in his early twenties?” said Frank.

“Twenty-two,” said Gladys.   “And he’s always been good with figures.   So a job in a bank would be right up his street.   But the bastards said he was too old, they’d rather hire a sixteen or seventeen year old, who they could pay junior rates for four or five years.”

“Bastards!” agreed Frank.   “How’s a kid supposed to get ahead in the world, if they won’t even give him a chance?”

“Yeah,” said Gladys.   “Nowadays they won’t hire you without any experience.   But, coming straight from school, how can you get any experience, if they won’t hire you?   Catch bloody-twenty-bloody-two!”

“Christ!” thought Jack.   “How’m I supposed to keep my food down, with those two whingers doing their level best to make me throw up … If the boy really wanted work, he’d land a job soon enough.   Probably got hair halfway down his back, and wears jeans and T-shirts to his job interviews so he can seem to be looking for work, but without any danger of actually getting employed!”

Jack looked around the small canteen, hoping to find himself a seat further away from Frank and Gladys.   But the canteen was only very small, “the inbuilt cupboard” as old Rossi had used to call it.   There were six rows of rectangular steel-framed benches lined up like school benches.   In one corner, at the front of the room, a cigarette machine stood next to a soft drink vending machine.   Along the front of the canteen ran a small counter, behind which three women worked away preparing sandwiches and pastries to sell at lunch time.

Jack noticed old Bertha Spitz among the three women.   Five years Jack’s senior, Bertha had started work at the factory the same day Jack had, nearly forty years ago.   Jack thought about going over to strike up a conversation with Bertha, but he knew she wasn’t allowed to talk while on duty, other than to take orders, and he didn’t want to get her into trouble.