This Is Christmas Metazen

CAUTION: Watch for Forklift Traffic Jason Jordan Denny has worked at the factory for forty-seven years. He started when he was eighteen, and he’s now sixty-fve, and today is his last day. There will be no party, because tomorrow is Christmas.

At eighteen Denny was all there, but at sixty-fve he is not. He has epilepsy, and though he takes medication, he is not like he used to be. He smokes, too, and is showing symptoms of Alzheimer’s. Due to his failing health, he can’t do that much at the plant. He becomes easily confused and disoriented when learning a process that is foreign to him. So, rather than work the line with the other employees, who utilize crimping machines to assemble brake hoses, Denny is relegated to the pre-crimper, a machine that attaches sockets to parts. He doesn’t mind the work, or standing in one spot all day.

Several years ago, before he was bad off, Denny used to run the air tester. Every fnished part has to pass the air test in order to move on to inspection. The machine shoots compressed air through the hoses to check for leaks or constriction. This ensures that no bad hoses leave the plant.

The air tester, which Denny thinks of as a carousel for parts is still here, but up until today, someone else was running it. No one’s running it today because it’s being disassembled. The company bought a new one, which will be assembled and installed during the vacation that begins on Christmas and ends on New Year’s. For now, the parts the line produces will be stacked in crates and tested after the break on the new air tester. While the two men dismantle the machine, Denny glances over his shoulder at them.

“Sorry we can’t get you more, Denny,” John, Denny’s supervisor, says to him at the precrimper. John’s offering him a small black box. Inside: a gold watch with the inscription “47.”

Denny, realizing he’s supposed to take the box, sets down the part he’s pre-crimping, a threepronged part known as a “spider,” and accepts the gift. He fips open the lid.

“Oh,” Denny says upon seeing the watch. He uses this word more than any other. In fact, some workers haven’t heard him say anything else. “I already have one,” he tells John and bears his wrist, strapped with an old silver timepiece.

“I know Denny, but this is a gift from the company to show their appreciation for all your years of service. Look,” he says, taking the box and lifting the watch to show Denny its back, “they even engraved 47 on it for the number of years you’ve worked here.”

“Oh,” Denny says, reclaiming the watch. He slips it in the box and stuffs it in his jean pocket.

He grabs the spider and resumes pre-crimping.

John, who understands Denny’s ailments and has worked with him for nine years, walks away, not expecting a thank you, or any acknowledgement for that matter, except Denny’s usual one-syllable reply.

Things said to Denny during his fnal day: “Good luck, Denny.” “I wish I was you!” “Visit us sometime.” “Congrats, Den!” “Plenty of time for fshin now, Denny.” “What’re you gonna do with all that time on your hands?” “Enjoy your retirement.”