I knew there was going to be no one to welcome me back at the mill gate so it was good to hear a few kind words from Ma in the coffee shop before my first work shift in the legal economy in four months.
"Beer! You back. I beginning to think they close mill for good. Don't blame mill for that. Everybody lazy. Drink. Smoke. Watch tv. Play video. No want work morning, no want work afternoon. Soon all your lazy friend here drink my coffee. You want something beside coffee?"
Ma leaned a little closer to me than usual when she asked me what I wanted with her weak black coffee. Her little Chinese titties did not look quite as little as they used to, they looked pretty fucking good. Maybe she had them augmented during the strike. I ordered a breakfast special, eggs sunny side up.
When Ma brought me my food as I was reading about that Motherfucker Brian Mulroney in the newspaper she told me, "Your fat foreman here last week. He taking bets you puke before day is over. Say first day no booze hard for you when last strike over. I bet you no puke. Get 5-1."
I thanked Ma for the information, left the table, went to the washroom and puked before I ate my breakfast. Ma was thinking about how she was going to spend her winnings before I emerged from the can and sat back down.
When Rollie sat down across from me to have his coffee I told him about the bet and asked him to put a few bills down on me keeping my food down the rest of day when he saw the foreman at the beginning of our shift.
Rollie got in on the action too. "I've seen you puke lots of times Beer. But never more than once a day. If you already had a good heave I'll put a couple bills on you not getting nauseated before the end of the day." He pointed his tea spoon at Ma. "Do Ma's tits look bigger to you?"
I puked again at about 8:30. There is no such thing as a dead cert.
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