The Ford dump truck was long past retirement, as probably was the shotgun passenger.
The July sun was searing the young man and the grizzled laborer through a hole in the truck’s cab’s roof, first punched there by misloaded rocks or asphalt and then widened by rust.
We’d finished a job that morning on the southern end of Monmouth County and we were expected at another site, about 20 miles away, after lunch.
We’d grabbed lunch at a local gin mill; for me, it was the $1.25 forgettable special and a short whatever was on tap and cheap, and for my partner du jour it was a shot with three tall ones as chasers. Obviously, not a sandwich or blue plate guy.
As soon as he’d tossed back draft No. 3, I hustled him into the truck and fired it up, using our size to muscle into back-to-work traffic.
“Hey, I didn’t get my full half-hour,” he growled, to which I replied, “We gotta get to Oceanport.”
“We’re on the clock, kid.”
I agreed with the assertion, not realizing at the time we actually were poles apart.
“We’re on the clock, kid.” To him, it meant slow down, we’re getting paid while we crawl up Route 36, the boss should be happy we’re taking his money, the boss should be happy we deign to punch his time clock.
“We’re on the clock, kid.” To me, it meant we’re getting paid for what we produce, that otherwise we’re taking the boss’s money with nothing to show for it.
I’ve not had to punch a clock or fill out a time sheet for all but four non-contiguous years of my career; I’ve been “exempt” in nearly all my roles as a journalist. The task’s size and complexity — and deadline; always a deadline! — dictated the clock.
Maybe it was my upbringing. Dad stayed at his office until every patient had been cared for.
Maybe it’s my temperament. I want to see the finished product, the completed task, which made news a perfect career: There’s always something to see and touch at deadline, whether it’s a complete newspaper or a digital post.
It’s probably why I don’t start certain projects I know will need multiple sessions to finish. I don’t always like to do but I thoroughly enjoy having done.
And I concede the anti-capitalists’ point that anything I produce belongs to the company, but I still get a sense of accomplishment. That’s mine.
We’re on the clock? Perhaps, but I don’t watch it.
