The Trans Am Brat

There was time when I held a temp job as a "tape monkey", as I called it. All these Fortune 500 companies use mainframe computers that back up their data onto tapes, each one about the size of a VCR tape. A company can easily have tens of thousands of tapes in its library and since several companies usually share the same facility the overall library can be upwards of a million tapes. These facilities work 24/7 and the tape monkeys feed in the tapes to the machines and then file them back at the end of the shift.

The tapes are dusty and the facility is cold to keep the computers from overheating. And there's LOTS of walking. Not the greatest of jobs but I've done worse. And while there were console operators there that actually had real jobs, all us tape monkeys worked through a temp agency. Each of us arrived through a different road. I remember that young, black girl working there while pregnant (!) and the long-haired, red-headed rock and roll guy. There was also the Drunk.

The Drunk, whom I liked a lot, had had a rough go. He told me stories of blacking out, getting in his car naked and driving around only to be hauled in by the cops. This happened more than once and he lost his license. He was in the process of trying to rebuild his life. Naturally, seeing a man with shattered nerves, I had to torture him. I would often take empty tape cases and drop them right behind where he was standing. They make a THUNDEROUS noise when they hit the elevated computer floor and I would walk away laughing as he cursed me. Yeah, I'm shattered, too.

(OK, so I picked the Bandit version)
One night as I walked through the parking lot into the building, I noticed a shiny new Trans Am. I like fast cars, I want fast cars and I thought, "Fuck, wonder who that belongs to?" Hard to make payments for a car like that on 8 bucks an hour. Turns out there was a new temp in town: the Trans Am Brat. He had mommy and daddy supporting him to ensure he maintained the lifestyle he deserved. OK, I thought, whatever. But there was trouble a-brewing!

The Drunk hated the Brat - and vice versa. Although they never technically said, "Fuck you" to each other, it always sounded like that's what they were saying. The Drunk resented the Brat's free ride and the Brat bristled at the idea he was getting anything he didn't deserve. Finally, it erupted into a big showdown. All us tape monkeys were sitting in the control room with the console operator during a slow period. The Drunk and the Brat were having it out.

I said nothing as I watched the argument. I was secretly rooting for the Drunk but the Brat had no clue on anything so I knew it was hopeless to try and make any point to him. The Brat was defiantly making his case, though, and finally he addressed us all. He told us of how he and his friends would meet at a coffee shop and discuss current issues. "I live on a completey different plane than you people!" he declared. At this, I put on my best honest-to-gosh face and said: "Wow, you live on a plane??"


I was getting ready to burst out laughing when I noticed his Gollum-like eyes just staring at me. I thought, "Surely, he's not buying this." But the Brat just kept staring so I decided to hold my expression and see what happened. Finally, he declared triumphantly, "See! This is what I'm talking about!" and resumed his argument.

Ron, the console operator there, just about fell onto the floor laughing. I don't know if anyone else caught on but he sure did. The Brat never did. I'm sure at his little psuedo-Algonquin round table that night, he and his buddies were laughing at me for my remark. "How could anyone be so dumb?? How could anyone be so clueless??" Hear! Hear! How often it is people think they are talking about others when really they speak only of themselves (heck, half this blog is me railing against my own conservatism).