Good Things Come to Those Who Wait

I’m sitting in my car parked behind my apartment building around a quarter past 7 in the morning. I take a pause and reflect on the day of work I have ahead of me. I had gotten up at 6am to ready myself for my 8am shift at the printing factory where I do manual labour in the bindery department. It is a 35 to 40 minute commute from where I live. When you enter the windowless printing building it is loud with angry machines, the air is dusty from the constant movement of paper around the factory, and the workers coming off night shift have a slow energy, having gone through their daily grind once again.

The work is monotonous and a good way to get a repetitive stress injury. I have already had issues with my forearms and hands, still occasionally feeling the tingling sensation in my fingers from this work; this impairment becomes most obvious when I’m eating and I involuntarily drop forks or spoons mid-meal. A few co-workers have had surgeries on their arms to repair the inevitable carpal tunnel syndrome that has developed. Some already are showing signs of hearing damage from years of not wearing earplugs during work. My body is tired, but I ignore this because I have a job to do.

My job includes feeding the binding machine with stacks of paper, fanning it out to ensure it doesn’t stick together, then making sure it is straightened to avoid issues with it going into the feeder. Other times I stack bound booklets into boxes for hours on end. I am separated from my co-workers by the need to get things done on a schedule and the earplugs we wear to keep the loud out. We get some bonding time in during our breaks, 30 minutes for lunch and then the machine starts up again.

Sometimes I read the content of the materials, because it’s there and it keeps things from becoming too dull. We bind magazines, catalogues and small booklets and I read about farming issues, collectors items, drug education for children, and a range of topics I’m not that interested in, but are there before me in print many times over. When I’m not reading, I look at the large grey wall and up at the mezzanine where the workers walk to get onto the main floor. I have spent many an hour staring at that bleak grey wall.

When you have time to stare at the wall while doing repetitive work, you begin to think about your life. This is not what I pictured myself doing and it’s hard not to feel a bit disappointed that this is where I find myself. However, it is work and I’m glad to have it. My wage has barely covered rent and sometimes I’ve had to choose between food and auto costs and other necessities of living. I stopped buying clothes a while ago, except for work clothes, figuring if I just worked all of the time I wouldn’t have a reason to go out and about and I’d save a few bucks in the process. I saved up bit by bit and when I had an extra five dollars I’d put it in the bank.

I had begun daring to dream about going back to school a while back. Before I had saved enough, I enrolled and knowing I would soon have the money for a full semester of tuition I began attending classes. I chose the English program, because I liked the subject, but I didn’t have a full end-game plan for this. Feeling like a flake, I would duck the collection officer (who would occasionally show up to class to find me) until I was able to finally pay for the semester in a wad of $20 and $50 bills – we had to count twice to make sure it was all there. But going to school only works if I continue shifts with the printing company a few days a week.

By what seemed to be a stroke of luck, one of my managers had contacted me to see if I would also work for his pizza shop and I added this in as my second job. So weekends meant work on Friday, Saturday and Sunday evenings and if it’s available, work at the printing job on Saturday and Sunday from 8am to 4pm. I considered myself very fortunate to have an employer who I could coordinate both jobs with to make it all work.

I was able to pack my schedule with classes that worked around my jobs. Between classes I scheduled study blocks in the library to make sure I could get my reading done. Because I had a couple of free evenings, I filled those with volunteer shifts and extracurriculars, experience that could assist me with becoming employable for whatever field I ended up in.

I indulged in the occasional coffee in the public spaces at school, doing my homework, seeing other students laughing and getting ready for party bus nights and social events. I would hear them recounting their adventures out, being young, foolish and so alive. Occasionally I felt a pang of envy and wished I could join in the revelry – it all looked so carefree. But I buried my head in my books and told myself I just need to keep hanging on – because good things come to those who wait.

I’m back staring at the grey wall and the mezzanine at my printing job. Time passes slowly, but we know the next shift is coming in when we finally see them walking across the mezzanine. Sometimes they show up five minutes early and let us go. We head out into the fresh air, coughing from the dusty interior of the building, blinking our dry eyes.

From there it is a 30 to 40 minute drive across the city and to the pizza place where I jump in either with food prep, taking orders or helping on the oven, wherever I am needed. My shift on Friday starts when I arrive and lasts until midnight. I used to get really discouraged having to go to work after a full day of work. One day I decided to change my perspective and told myself this is just another place to go where I can hang out with different friends and I happen to be making and selling pizza. It helped.

The dinner rush gets crazy. We get inundated with orders, making thirty pizzas at a time, shovelling them into the oven and somehow keeping track of the timing on them all, shifting them about whenever one needs to be pulled out. My arms tell the story of the numerous burns that one gets working around these ovens – inevitable in a fast paced environment. I come to recognize the regular customers, making sure to smile and pronounce their names correctly, which they seem to appreciate.

When you’re working at such a steady pace, you forget about how your feet feel, or the soreness of your muscles from lifting reams of paper all day. My co-workers and I are on a mission all together, feeding people, as many as we can. And finally when the rush is over, we feel good that we got through it. Time slows down near the end of the night. We get the occasional call or walk-in, but there is time to take a seat, maybe exchange some chit-chat. And then there is the clean up and inventory so a supply order can be placed for the next day. Wipe down, mop, close up.

Then the ride home, maybe about 20 or 25 minutes from south of the city to city centre, where I live with my partner in a reasonably sized one bedroom. I drive into my parking spot and listen to music for a couple of minutes, then turn off the car. I sit there and hear the quiet and think about my life. It is half past midnight and I have to be up in less than 6 hours to go to work again at the printing job and then the restaurant until 10pm. I feel my body ache, my bones feel tired, my feet are sore. But I am on a path to a future somewhere and I need to keep this up if I want to make it anywhere in life. Because good things come to those who wait…

… do good things come to those who wait?

I’m tired and I start to wish I could go have fun, like those students I see at school who seem to have no cares in the world. I would love to be out whooping it up and creating memories and bonds that will last forever. I would love to dance the endless night away. I had, just moments before, driven past the main road where I could see all sorts of people out and about, many whom were just starting their night. Or I would love to kick up my feet and spend a night binge watching some comedy, laughing for hours sitting on the couch. I would do just fine with a weekend off.

But it will take years to finish my schooling and I need to keep focused.

Then I start to notice a feeling that begins to creep into my thoughts – self-pity. I feel pressure beginning to build behind my eyes and my face feels flushed. The tears start to flow, slowly at first. I then I start to sob and all my emotion comes out in what feels like a violent rush. I’ve held it together for so long and the dam has broken. I don’t know if I can do this anymore. I let myself feel my feelings and I continue crying for about 10 minutes in my car parked in the back of the building. Letting it all out.

Then I stop and sit there, composing myself and drying my tears. I take in the silence. Breathe. Forget that this happened. It was a momentary slip. Everything is all right and I am strong. I will show up to work tomorrow as usual. It’s just another place to hang out with different friends. I’m on the path to somewhere, I’m not sure where yet. Good things come to those who wait.