My Younger Days

I supported my husband to get him through college, Virginia Tech. Before we were married, his family helped with his tuition and he worked part time.

The job I am going to write about was my second job after we were married. This job was at the University and not far from our apartment. I was a high school graduate with one year of college and had taken secretarial classes in high school. During my high school years I had even worked part time after school on campus and was able to look at all the good looking college boys too, yowsir, now those were some fun times. Now I'm married and not looking!

So for my second job I had to go through all the typing and shorthand tests (some of you younger people have no clue what shorthand is. It is like writing in code, but very quick). Well, I passed and lucky me. I had three interviews and only one department must have liked me. They wanted to hire me. I was hoping people would fight over me because I was cute, funny and cute. NOT!

I was hired to work in the Department of Poultry Science. OH GOD, HELP ME. To begin with, I am so afraid of chickens. I will run a mile if one looks my way -- hell, I don't care if it's a hen or a rooster -- I'm running. But then, I calmed myself down - you won't see a damned chicken, you are working at a University, in a building, with people, and handsome boys. I knew I would be answering the telephone, typing, taking shorthand, using a calculator and doing whatever else I was told to do. I would be making $3,200.00 a year. YAAAAY. My husband would get through school and we could move away to a city and out of this tiny town. We would save a lot of money and buy a new car.

I showed up for work on my first day to find a huge room, with seven women. We all were to work facing a wall. Everyone had a typewriters and the funniest looking calculators that I have ever seen in my life, hundreds of little buttons and the carriage moved. I wondered what I had gotten myself into, I did know how to use an adding machine, and I thought maybe a calculator... hmmmm, did I put operate a calculator on my application.. damnit, I know I did. Well, how hard can this be? I walk in the room, everyone turns around to check out the new girl. They are friendly and smile and I am a wreck. I have to pronounce my name twice and spell it numerous times. We chat and the door flies open and hits the wall and in like a tornado comes my boss. He doesn't speak, walks straight to his office and screams my name. My knees get weak, they all smile at me like they know something.

Nobody has actually told me where my desk is so I go into the office where the tornado went (oh, by the way, I have on gloves). He is smoking a long, black cigar. I want to cry and go home. He tells me to grab a chair, I still want to cry and go home. I find a chair and he tells me to move closer. He explains to me that he is a geneticist and that we will be working on different grants and I will be calculating figures for him, working in a lab, mixing "chicken shit" in an experiment for cattle feed. I can't breathe and I am sure my deodorant has failed me. He said chicken shit. I said uh huh. Then he drops the bomb. He asks if I have a car. I can't imagine why he wants to know, now I'm scared. I am afraid to say yes and/or no. I said yes. He relights his cigar, leans back in his chair and throws his feet up on his desk. He sorta swivels my way and said 3 or 4 days a week I will call you to meet me at the Chicken Farm. I feel myself hyperventilating, honest to God, is it me or his cigar, he has a huge nose, I can see his eyes dancing thru his glasses, is he waiting for a response, is this a test? I knew I was going to faint. I felt like I couldn't swallow and I was afraid the saliva was going to run down my chin. It seemed like an hour before I could speak, I know it wasn't.

I asked him why would he want me to meet him there? I thought I worked in this office. He said you do, sometimes. Then I dropped the bomb on him. Tears started down my cheeks and I felt like I was gonna start gasping and I told him I was afraid of chickens.

He let out a war whoop. Then he said Jesus Christ, who is afraid of a fucking chicken. Where are you from? I thought you were from Blacksburg? I know I am hyperventilating now. I am so embarrassed and I feel the heat moving up my neck and I want to run to the bathroom but I don't know where it is. The office full of women is quiet enough to hear a pin drop. I know they are listening and laughing. OH NO.

I try to get control of myself. I feel as though my fingernails have gouged holes in my palms. Then the boss said well that's it for now I will bring some research figures out for you to add up for me just to give you some idea of what you will be working with. I don't like screw ups either. I bring in lots of money to this department and I want my work done perfect, do you understand. I am sure I didn't speak, I know I didn't. Maybe I nodded. I think the sonofabitch loved what he was doing to me. Poor Green Me.

He said ok, you can go on in and acquaint yourself with the girls, get a cup of coffee, I think it's break time anyway.

The rest of the day went pretty well, I learned to use the machine, formally met all the girls and their bosses and when the day was done I went home and cried.

My husband had been home for hours, classes for him were over at noon, in time for him to watch his soap operas, have lunch and take a nap. He said I was silly and it would be fun, I would adapt. We needed the money too. I was 19 years old and REALLY, REALLY STUPID.

I show up bright and bushy tailed the next morning for work, had my coffee and chatted and finished my computations and the telephone rang. Gail, it's for you. Oh, wonder who that could be. Guess who. It was Paul, the boss. He wanted me to walk to the Biochemistry Building and bring some notes off his desk and plan to spend the day. OH GOD, nails in palms, deodorant not working, fainting is an option again, knees weakening. I look at the girls and they say you don't have to worry. You are going to have fun up there. Paul is nice and funny, the people in the lab are very nice and helpful too.

I found the lab and everyone was sitting watching the door. As I walked in the stood up and clapped. I laughed and they said we had a bet going. Paul said you wouldn't show. He just lost $5.00.

I was handed a lab coat, something that looked like a putty knife, and a pair of rubber gloves. When I saw the gloves I knew it was going to be bad, really bad. Over in the corner was a metal shelf on wheels. It was loaded with metal trays of chicken shit. Not fresh chicken shit, but dried up, old chicken shit. Still not good.

I was told to sit or stand, whichever was I was comfortable (they had to be kidding) and to scrape the c.s. into a bowl. The trays were labeled and I was to write the label numbers down on my pad and once all of the c.s. was scrapped into the bowl, to set aside the tray and to notice there was a professional blender in front of me as well as a solution. I am thinking, whoa, back up -- I am no chemistry major, I have no clue here. Someone sensed the problem and patted my back. "We are here to help you, don't worry" -- Sweat is starting to run down the back of my neck and it's very warm. I'm wondering if they can see it? Well the lab study was to mix the c.s. with other ingredients for use in making cattle food. Try not to think about beef you may have eaten a long time ago and if it sorta tasted like chicken too.

I will share two more events with you. There are many more but I don't want to bore you with chicken stories

The first was when I was told to bring old clothes and shoes to work that I would be going to the Barn. The Poultry Barns. My worst nightmare come true. I pulled up to the barn, following my boss and the sound was deafening. Chickens talking to each other. The stench was ungodly--a fresh ammonia smell. I wonder had I fainted, would it have helped bring me back. NO WAY.

I was shown a restroom to change into my old clothes (there were no such things as blue jeans for women then) so I had old slacks and a shirt and Keds. I came out and was handed the nastiest pair of boots I have ever seen. Men's boots covered with chicken shit. Paul opened the door and there stood two of his male graduate students. Michael and John. We were introduced and they had smirks on their faces. That damn Paul -- he told. Oh the smell was overpowering and I was getting all sweaty and I wanted to cry but didn't. Paul turns around and looks at me and says bring your pad, pen and a chair and come into the pen. OH JESUS NO. I swear to God, my feet wouldn't move .... they would not move. Why would I need a chair anyway. The pens are huge and their is "chicken wire" on the outside so you can see and hear everything. They are looking at me and I am trying to move. The tall boy, Michael said oh I should get the chair for her and he did and held the wire door for me. My feet finally did move, someone moved them, I know I didn't.

Now I'm in the cage, with shit covered boots, and the chickens are pecking at them. I want to kick its head off and I want to run away. Michael says Gail, your chair is over here by the stand. Paul has a ugly white chicken under his arm and a big pair of scissors in his hand. JESUS CHRIST what is he going to do to that ugly chicken? He says "Gail, hurry up we don't have all day." Sit down and write this number down as I call them out.

The two boys are chasing chickens around the pen and laughing and I am trying to get all of my body in the seat of the chair. Paul throws his chicken away and they throw one at him, over my head, and laugh. I screamed. John said "Oops, Sorry." Sure he was. Paul screams at me to pay attention and write down the numbers and don't screw up. My husband is at home, watching soap operas and taking naps. What is wrong with me.

There is a lull while the boys chase some chickens and the chickens are screaming like in cartoons with the hawk is trying to catch them. I happen to look up at Paul and he has cut the top, red notch off of the chicken's head. What the hell. I want to throw up. Why would anyone mistreat even a stupid chicken. Oh God, I knew I was going to throw up. I just kept gritting my molars as hard as I could. This went on for 5 cages and when we were finished I was told I might want to go home and take a shower and change clothes. No kidding. I got home and my husband, who watches soaps and naps said I smelled like a bunch of cats had peed on my clothes. This time I didn't cry -- I used as lot of curse words and it sounded good and I used them over and over and over til he quit speaking and apologized.

The second story I will tell you makes me feel good and I mean really, really down deep good. I was once again called from the office to come to the barns. Not to go into the smelly part but to go into another section where the roosters were kept in really nice cages(or suites). One big ole ugly white rooster to a suite.

Michael met me at the door and by now we were good friends. He told me that Paul was out of town and had asked us to run some trials. I asked what we were doing in the rooster suites. They are nasty, mean birds. They want to hurt you, you can tell. Well, Michael tells me "we are to time the matings." This is a first. I laughed and so did he. There are 4 huge roosters that are to be tested today. I said "what will Paul do if they can't get it up, kill 'em" and we both laughed. He told me that these were Paul's prize roosters and nothing would ever happen to them.

So I thought I have never seen chickens screw anyway, how hard can that be to watch and count how many times and time how long he does each chicken? Piece of cake, maybe fun. We will joke and laugh all afternoon. Fun, Fun, Fun. Finally.

Michael didn't tell me he was putting 5 hens in with the Rooster. So I realized there could not be fun involved with this. How could I watch the Rooster have sex with 5 chickens and how could I tell? Michael assures me that he is gonna "walk" me through the first group. He brings a cage of 5 hens in the room and tells me he will grab two at once and when he says open, I am to open the rooster cage so he can toss the hens in. WAITTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT Just a Minute. I am going to open that door where that big Rooster is pacing and is oversexed and knows what's getting ready to happen. He knows, I know he does. He's done it before, he is a Champion.

The top of the hen cage is open they squawk Michael grabs two and screams open the door, I do and he throws them in and I slam the door, we do it twice more. The timer is turned on and I have a pad that has numbers 1-5 down the left hand side and I am to put marks by each number each time he courts and mounts and screws. Michael says watch closely, he's courting, he's dragging his wing, he's grabbing her head, he's mounting, he's in, he's out; he's courting, he's dragging, he's grabbing, he's on, he's in, he's out; he's courting, etc. Well 2 hrs of this and I had it down pat.

Michael tells me I did a great job and we laugh that I am an experience chicken mater and some other nasty things. He is going in to bring out the last of the hens. He warns me that the Rooster might try to come with the hens, so for me to be very careful. Hell, that Rooster is not getting out on my watch. No Siree. Michael grabs hen number 4, steps out throws her in the cage and gets hen number 5 and as he gets one leg out I see that Damn Rooster coming, I said "hurry, hurry" Michael jumps out and the Rooster does too. I slammed that damn door and the Rooster's neck was in it. Michael turned as I did it and he screamed "NOOOOOOOOOO".

Dead silence except for those damned noisy hens. Michael said "Paul will kill us" "YOU HAVE KILLED HIS CHAMPION" -- I just stood and looked through the door at the Big Ole White Rooster all sprawled out on the straw, if he was dead, he died very satisfied. I thought of that and told Michael, he never laughed. He was scared too death. He was a graduate student, getting his Ph.D., under Paul, he was finishing in the summer (maybe so, maybe so). I realized he wanted to cry. I then started to feel bad, for him, not the Rooster. But then, that Rooster moved. I could see the side of his head and he had one eye on me and he looked at me for a second or two and then he tried to get up. Michael threw open the door and rushed into the Rooster suite. Jesus, I thought he might give him mouth to mouth for a minute. He massaged his neck and his back and his head and damned if that old Rooster didn't get his Mojo back. He survived, despite me. Michael and I swore to never tell anyone. We never did.

Michael graduate and probably is a professor of Poultry Science at some big Northern University and Paul is 80 years old retired but still goes into work and I see him often. One day I should tell him about his Champion. Maybe not.

Happy Trails