wasn't mean about it or anything. Just asked him how about shaking it out fair from now on. And that shows how little I knew of the ways of life. The son-of-a-bitch slugged me with a water pitcher, and then he kicked the hell out of me. And then he fired me off the crew. And I wanted to fight or argue about it or something, but somehow I just couldn't. Getting slugged and kicked when I'd been trying to be nice-well, I couldn't do anything for a while. Just hole up in my room and think.
Well, pretty soon I joined up with another crew, and inside of a month I was manager of it. Me, just a kid, managing a crew, so I guess you can see I had what it took. But there were a couple of these punks that were always kicking, hinting maybe that I was crapping them on the can't-confirms. So finally I got 'em alone in my room, and beat the sap out of them. And then I gave 'em the gate. But they still weren't satisfied. It wasn't enough that I had to go out and dig up a couple of more men. They wrote to the home office, and the next thing I know I'm yanked off the crew and I can't ever work for that company again.
It went on and on like that, every damn thing I tried. I work into a nice premium deal, and the superintendent robs me on territory. I buy gold, and the refinery gives me the cob; even the big buyers do it, by God. They try to kid me that my eighteen-karat is fourteen and that the fourteen is ten, and so on. And I'll bet I was skinned out of thousands of dollars before I saw I was struggling against hopeless odds, and moved into another racket.
It was that way with everything I did, the aluminum ware, the pots and pans, the premiums, the magazines: everything. One way or another, I'd get the blocks put to me; so I will mercifully spare you the sordid details. I often thought, I kept thinking, that if I had some little helpmeet to dwell with, the unequal struggle would not be so unequal. But I didn't have any more luck that way than I did in the others. Tramps, that's all I got. Three goddamned tramps in a row.. – or maybe it was four or five, but it doesn't matter. It was like they were all the same person.
Finally, I was working in this small city in the middle-west. Outside collection-sales. It could have been pleasant and remunerative, but my boss was just about the most no-good son-of-a-bitch I ever worked for. Character named Staples. He just wasn't satisfied unless he was giving me a hard time, and when I go home at night, exhausted with the struggles ainst unequal odds, it's more of the same. Because the babe I'm married to then, she's out of this world, what I mean. The queen of the tramps, and a plenty tough bitch to boot.
To get ahead of myself a little, she starts giving me a hard time one night, talking dirty to me and using bad language. So like I always do, I try to be reasonable and show her the error of her ways. I say it is not the best time to talk when a man just comes home from work, and perhaps we wiii both be in a better mood after we have a bite to eat. I say, will she please fix us a bite, and! will cheerfuily help her. Well, for answer she gives me some more of the dirty talk. And when I try to pet her and soothe her down, gently but firmly, she somehow slips and falls into the bathtub.
I helped her out and apologized, although I hadn't done a goddamned thing. "I'm very sorry, Joyce," I said. "Now, you just take it easy and I'll fix us a nice dinner – - " That's the way I talked to her, but you know how much good it does trying to be nice to a tramp. She almost caved my skull in with a scrubbing brush. Then, when I leave the house to calm myself, she ruins all my clothes and pulls out. I guess she saw that she couldn't get anything more out of me, and it was time to latch onto another sucker.
Meanwhile, to go back and take events in their proper order, I have met one of the sweetest, finest little girls in the world. Her name is Mona, and she lives with a mean old bitch of an aunt. The old
Well, pretty soon I joined up with another crew, and inside of a month I was manager of it. Me, just a kid, managing a crew, so I guess you can see I had what it took. But there were a couple of these punks that were always kicking, hinting maybe that I was crapping them on the can't-confirms. So finally I got 'em alone in my room, and beat the sap out of them. And then I gave 'em the gate. But they still weren't satisfied. It wasn't enough that I had to go out and dig up a couple of more men. They wrote to the home office, and the next thing I know I'm yanked off the crew and I can't ever work for that company again.
It went on and on like that, every damn thing I tried. I work into a nice premium deal, and the superintendent robs me on territory. I buy gold, and the refinery gives me the cob; even the big buyers do it, by God. They try to kid me that my eighteen-karat is fourteen and that the fourteen is ten, and so on. And I'll bet I was skinned out of thousands of dollars before I saw I was struggling against hopeless odds, and moved into another racket.
It was that way with everything I did, the aluminum ware, the pots and pans, the premiums, the magazines: everything. One way or another, I'd get the blocks put to me; so I will mercifully spare you the sordid details. I often thought, I kept thinking, that if I had some little helpmeet to dwell with, the unequal struggle would not be so unequal. But I didn't have any more luck that way than I did in the others. Tramps, that's all I got. Three goddamned tramps in a row.. – or maybe it was four or five, but it doesn't matter. It was like they were all the same person.
Finally, I was working in this small city in the middle-west. Outside collection-sales. It could have been pleasant and remunerative, but my boss was just about the most no-good son-of-a-bitch I ever worked for. Character named Staples. He just wasn't satisfied unless he was giving me a hard time, and when I go home at night, exhausted with the struggles ainst unequal odds, it's more of the same. Because the babe I'm married to then, she's out of this world, what I mean. The queen of the tramps, and a plenty tough bitch to boot.
To get ahead of myself a little, she starts giving me a hard time one night, talking dirty to me and using bad language. So like I always do, I try to be reasonable and show her the error of her ways. I say it is not the best time to talk when a man just comes home from work, and perhaps we wiii both be in a better mood after we have a bite to eat. I say, will she please fix us a bite, and! will cheerfuily help her. Well, for answer she gives me some more of the dirty talk. And when I try to pet her and soothe her down, gently but firmly, she somehow slips and falls into the bathtub.
I helped her out and apologized, although I hadn't done a goddamned thing. "I'm very sorry, Joyce," I said. "Now, you just take it easy and I'll fix us a nice dinner – - " That's the way I talked to her, but you know how much good it does trying to be nice to a tramp. She almost caved my skull in with a scrubbing brush. Then, when I leave the house to calm myself, she ruins all my clothes and pulls out. I guess she saw that she couldn't get anything more out of me, and it was time to latch onto another sucker.
Meanwhile, to go back and take events in their proper order, I have met one of the sweetest, finest little girls in the world. Her name is Mona, and she lives with a mean old bitch of an aunt. The old
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