picked up another armful and followed him.
He disposed of his load, moving quickly along the shelves and cribs, and was going to pass me by on his way to the front.
I stopped him.
"Where do these go?" I said.
He glanced at them, pulled several pieces from my arms, and put them up.
"The others don't go here," he said, moving away again.
I moved along with him. "Where do they go, then?"
"Tank flanges to Welding; straps to Sub-assembly; compression-rib brackets to Sheet-metal."
"How come they were brought in here?"
"Oh, I don't know. Those straps used to be ours; used to put 'em on out in Final Assembly. Routing's wrong on the others."
We were back at the front now.
"Just put 'em down on the floor," he said. "I'll grab a move-boy pretty soon. Want to stack those ribs? They're all ours."
He pointed them out to me and indicated the racks in which they belonged. I loaded a hand-truck, wheeled them back to the racks, and began to unload. It was pretty slow work, and not entirely because of my hangover. The ribs had a tendency to catch on the paper, which had to be put down between layers, and shove it out the other side. And, despite their size, they were so light that a push on one would put the entire stack in disarray.
When noon came I hadn't disposed of more than two-thirds of the ribs, and I was so nervous that I forgot how weak and hungry I was. I went to the toilet and washed, and I had a couple of cigarettes in the yard. Then I came back in and went to work again.
I guess it was around one o'clock when the dark-skinned fellow dropped by. He seemed to have a few minutes to spare.
"How you doing?" he inquired. And, before I could answer, "Say! You're not mixing those together, are you?"
He fingered along the shelves, sliding out one here, one there. "Can't you see the difference in those two? One's slotted on one side and one on the other. And these-see?-the rivet holes are spaced differently. On one kind they come in pairs. In the other they're evenly spaced."
Well, and why the hell didn't you tell me there was more than one kind, I thought. But I just thought it.
"Any others I've mixed up?" I said, weakly.
"You ought to put part of these in your opposite rack. They're a right-hand rib, all right; but they use one of them in each left wing. The same thing goes for the left-hand rib of this type. You've got one left-right rib, and one right-left rib in each wing."
"Here's where I give up," I said. And I meant it.
"You'll catch on in time," he grinned. "That's all it takes is a little time."
"How am I going to straighten this out?"
"Well-" he looked over his shoulder, "I've got an order to throw out to Tailcone, but-but, well, I'll help you."
It must have taken him all of thirty minutes to do the job.
Moon came around just as he had finished.
"Got that tailcone stuff out yet, Murphy?" he said. "They're hollering for it."
I glanced at my dark-skinned acquaintance. Now I might make a mistake on ribs, I thought, but I know a Mexican when I see one. At least, he's certainly no Irishman.
"It's my fault if there's any delay," I said, as he hurried off. "I mixed these ribs up and Murphy was straightening me out."
"How'd you happen to mix 'em up?" asked Moon. "Where's the travelers on them?"
"I don't know," I said. "I don't know what a traveler is."
He turned and jerked his head for me to follow him. At the front counter he stopped, and I stopped. He reached down to the shelf beneath it, opened his lunch pail, and took out an apple. He bit into it, chewed and swallowed, and moved over to Gross's desk.
"Gross," said Moon-chomp, chomp-"did you find any wing travelers kicking around today?"
"Yeah," said Gross. "I picked up three-four, I guess it was."
"Let's see 'em."
The travelers were blue cardboard squares covered from top to bottom with print. "They carry every process that goes into the making of a certain part," Moon explained. "They follow the parts right down the processing line, and when they get
He disposed of his load, moving quickly along the shelves and cribs, and was going to pass me by on his way to the front.
I stopped him.
"Where do these go?" I said.
He glanced at them, pulled several pieces from my arms, and put them up.
"The others don't go here," he said, moving away again.
I moved along with him. "Where do they go, then?"
"Tank flanges to Welding; straps to Sub-assembly; compression-rib brackets to Sheet-metal."
"How come they were brought in here?"
"Oh, I don't know. Those straps used to be ours; used to put 'em on out in Final Assembly. Routing's wrong on the others."
We were back at the front now.
"Just put 'em down on the floor," he said. "I'll grab a move-boy pretty soon. Want to stack those ribs? They're all ours."
He pointed them out to me and indicated the racks in which they belonged. I loaded a hand-truck, wheeled them back to the racks, and began to unload. It was pretty slow work, and not entirely because of my hangover. The ribs had a tendency to catch on the paper, which had to be put down between layers, and shove it out the other side. And, despite their size, they were so light that a push on one would put the entire stack in disarray.
When noon came I hadn't disposed of more than two-thirds of the ribs, and I was so nervous that I forgot how weak and hungry I was. I went to the toilet and washed, and I had a couple of cigarettes in the yard. Then I came back in and went to work again.
I guess it was around one o'clock when the dark-skinned fellow dropped by. He seemed to have a few minutes to spare.
"How you doing?" he inquired. And, before I could answer, "Say! You're not mixing those together, are you?"
He fingered along the shelves, sliding out one here, one there. "Can't you see the difference in those two? One's slotted on one side and one on the other. And these-see?-the rivet holes are spaced differently. On one kind they come in pairs. In the other they're evenly spaced."
Well, and why the hell didn't you tell me there was more than one kind, I thought. But I just thought it.
"Any others I've mixed up?" I said, weakly.
"You ought to put part of these in your opposite rack. They're a right-hand rib, all right; but they use one of them in each left wing. The same thing goes for the left-hand rib of this type. You've got one left-right rib, and one right-left rib in each wing."
"Here's where I give up," I said. And I meant it.
"You'll catch on in time," he grinned. "That's all it takes is a little time."
"How am I going to straighten this out?"
"Well-" he looked over his shoulder, "I've got an order to throw out to Tailcone, but-but, well, I'll help you."
It must have taken him all of thirty minutes to do the job.
Moon came around just as he had finished.
"Got that tailcone stuff out yet, Murphy?" he said. "They're hollering for it."
I glanced at my dark-skinned acquaintance. Now I might make a mistake on ribs, I thought, but I know a Mexican when I see one. At least, he's certainly no Irishman.
"It's my fault if there's any delay," I said, as he hurried off. "I mixed these ribs up and Murphy was straightening me out."
"How'd you happen to mix 'em up?" asked Moon. "Where's the travelers on them?"
"I don't know," I said. "I don't know what a traveler is."
He turned and jerked his head for me to follow him. At the front counter he stopped, and I stopped. He reached down to the shelf beneath it, opened his lunch pail, and took out an apple. He bit into it, chewed and swallowed, and moved over to Gross's desk.
"Gross," said Moon-chomp, chomp-"did you find any wing travelers kicking around today?"
"Yeah," said Gross. "I picked up three-four, I guess it was."
"Let's see 'em."
The travelers were blue cardboard squares covered from top to bottom with print. "They carry every process that goes into the making of a certain part," Moon explained. "They follow the parts right down the processing line, and when they get
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