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oe had enjoyed his supper the night
before and decided to check out the morning menu. He knew a hard workday was ahead, so
starting with a large breakfast was foremost on his mind.
The café was almost vacant—only three other customers—so he sat
close to the door.
A middle-aged, slightly-overweight day shift waitress came to
wait on him. Placing a cup before him and pouring coffee, she handed him a
menu, “Good morning, beautiful day we’re
having.”
“Beautiful, but it looks like it might be a hot one. Thanks for
the coffee. Give me a minute or two—Kathy,” glancing at her name tag and then
her cherub face.
“I’ll
come back in a few minutes…take your time.”
Joe listened to the chatter of the others sitting around him, as
he studied his menu. Two customers—obviously farmers—were drinking
coffee and talking about their crops; the third person sat alone, reading. Joe's
thoughts turn of his own parents and how they worked hard on their farm. They
had help from all of his six still-living-at-home siblings.
Seeing the waitress approaching, he selected something
to eat. He selected
a large country breakfast of ham, eggs, buttermilk biscuits, and gravy. Several
cups of strong coffee washed down his meal before going to the new job. Leaving
a small tip, Joe walked to the hotel, arriving in time to catch a ride with his
boss.
“Ready for work?”
“Ready as I’ll
ever be,” said Joe, as he belched loudly and climbed in the truck.
“I’ve
had a crew to lay the rig's foundation. Today you, Bill, and the crew will
start building the wooden derrick.”
“We’re
sure going to have a hot day for it,” Joe wiped his shirt sleeve across his
forehead. “Working as a roughneck is a hard, dangerous job, but the pay’s good.”
The temperature rose to the mid-eighties by mid-morning and by
one o'clock had soared to one hundred degrees. Many believed it to be a typical
Texas August day; however,
the drought made it worse.
Joe removed his hard hat and raked his fingers through his blond
hair, now plastered with his perspiration, and cursed the heat.
He walked to the 1933 Ford pickup, the only shade available,
and sat on the running board. Opening the burlap-wrapped water-jug sitting in
the shade, he poured some water in a tin cup. The water that splashed onto the
dry, heat-cracked thirsty ground vanished quickly, leaving no trace.
Drinking hastily, some water trickled from the sides of the tin
cup onto his muscular chest, cooling it. He couldn’t wait for quitting time; he had in mind to ask Martha for
a date for the weekend. He just hoped she wasn’t
seeing someone.
“Joe, stop loafing and get back to work,” yelled his boss.
“Yes, Mr. Reed.” Joe put his hard hat on, and returned to work…and
the scorching heat.
