The Lunch Break

The noon whistle sounded.

Josh, Pete, Jack, and Jimmy headed away from the big cranes and found themselves an open space to eat their lunches on the big building site, a little bit away from the knot of Mexicans, who had snagged all the shade and were arguing in their own language.

Jack's dog, an old spotted bird dog that half–answered to 'Rebel', trotted out from behind the furthest shade tree to join the men, wagging his tapered tail in satisfaction at the arrival of lunch break.

Josh opened the cooler, and started tossing his friends beers, glancing over at the Mexicans.

'You know,' he drawled. 'Simple folks is good people. They'll do all right.'

Pete nodded. He liked it when Josh talked like that. They all did. It made the lunch break more interesting.

Josh popped the tab on his beer, and chugged half of it, leaning back on one elbow, a big, raw–boned fellow in a flannel shirt. He took off his hard hat and wiped the sweat from his brow with a muscular forearm, knocking back the damp, straw–coloured hair. He grinned.

'Folks that ain't all stuck up'll do all right, too. They're the salt of the earth.'

Nods of agreement. Josh cocked his head. 'I figger sad folks'll do all right, too, 'cause they'll cheer up. People who wanna do right, and help their neighbour, and don't cheat nobody, they'll do all right.'

He grinned. 'But if you wanna make peace, you're in for trouble. People gonna pick on you.' Jack grunted assent as he gave Rebel a good rub behind the ears.

'Yep, I seen it.'

Jimmy handed out pickles. He knew Josh loved pickles, and he saved the biggest kosher dill for him.

'Tell us one o' your stories, Josh. You know, about the Commonweal of Heavy.'

The others chuckled. This was their favourite pastime, goading Josh into yarning for them over a meal or a beer. Hard–working men, all of them, and none too bright, but they did like to hear their buddy shoot the breeze.

Josh wrinkled his brow in thought. 'All right. Here goes.' He crunched on a pickle, thinking, and then clapped his hands.

'The Commonweal of Heavy is like...a repair man who gets sent out to fix a washin' machine. He gets there with the replacement parts, and the tools, and then he finds out the lady told 'em the wrong model number. So he's gotta reorder, and wait for the truck. And he waits. And then it turns out it's a furrin model, and he's only got tools in inches, and he's gotta try and make 'em work. And he fiddles around with it so long he misses his lunch break.'

There were murmurs of dissatisfaction at this, and Jack demurred. 'Don't sound like a place I'd wanna work, then.'

Josh's grin grew wider. 'AND the Commonweal of Heavy is like a man who is tryin' to drill holes through a wall. But he's gotta know what's on the other side.'

Pete looked interested at this, he being an avid DIYer. Josh winked. 'So his partner's on the other side of the wall, supposed to tell him what's there when he taps. So he taps, and he makes marks, and he taps some more.' He grinned. 'But when he walks around the wall, he finds his partner is listenin' to the Rolling Stones on headphones. He was just callin' stuff out at random.' Laughter from the gang, and shaking of heads.

Pete sighed. 'Sounds like that–air Commonweal of yourn is a whole lot more trouble'n it's worth, Josh.'

Josh sighed, too. 'Sometimes seems that way to me, too, buddy.'

Taking the ensuing silence as a sign that everybody was ready to eat, Jimmy was about to unpack the sandwiches, when a shadow fell on his face. He looked up in annoyance, to find the littlest Mexican, hat in hand, standing over him. He scowled at him. 'Go back to your shade tree, Pancho.'

Josh sat up and smiled at the man. 'Hey, compadre, what kin we do for you?'

The Mexican, who had been about to leave, stopped, and gave an embarrassed grin.

'Senor, we don' get paid till Friday, and, well... we have no food.'

Pete, the biggest appetite in the group, groaned. 'Well, our wives packed this stuff for us. We ain't got no extry.' He looked around for support – and saw that, as usual, all other eyes were on Josh.

Josh smiled a slow smile. 'Well, we'll just have to make extry, now, won't we?'

And with that he held out his hand for the bag of sandwiches, which Jimmy gave him, and began unwrapping ham and cheese, splitting the sandwiches into even pieces, and handing them out. He winked at the Mexican. 'Tell your friends to come on over. I'll bet I've got some beer left, too.'

And don't you know, there was plenty enough for everybody, even after Rebel stole half a sandwich? Pete just shook his head.

The back–to–work whistle blew, and a dozen men picked up their stuff and sauntered back to work, Josh trying to wrap his tongue around the Mexicans' word for 'fork lift'.