The Story, Part II

For the beginning of the story, see last week’s installment.

Phil followed Mr. Gabriel into the elevator. “You’ll be working in Subbasement 5,” said Mr. Gabriel. The elevator slid down into the depths of the building.

At Subbasement 5, the door hissed open, exposing a hallway flooded with cool fluorescent light and painted a dark industrial green. “Now, pay attention, Phillip,” Mr. Gabriel cautioned. “This place can seem like a maze at first.” He led Phil down the silent hallway. Every so often they passed a door, each with its own small sign naming a common item: UTENSILS, KEYS, MONEY, etc. After several turns that all looked the same to Phil, Mr. Gabriel finally stopped in front of a door marked SOCKS. Mr. Gabriel turned the knob and the heavy door opened with a pop, as if a seal had been released.

The first thing Phil noticed was a large, shiny steel chute descending from the center of the ceiling. A black sock fell from the chute and landed in the bin directly below it. Phil turned to Mr. Gabriel. “Where do the socks come from?”

“Why, the laundry, of course,” replied Mr. Gabriel. “They’re generally very clean, but static can be a problem.” He grabbed a mass of socks from the bin and pulled them apart. They resisted, crackling.

“What do you do with them?”

One of the socks in Mr. Gabriel’s hand was an athletic sock. He held it up for Phil to see. “Socks drop from the chute at a rate of about one per minute.”

“That’s a lot of socks!” exclaimed Phil. “At one per minute, you’re talking several hundred per day.”

“Yes, it is a lot of socks,” agreed Mr. Gabriel. “They are all singles. It is your job to pair them up.”

“You’re kidding,” said Phil.

“I never kid, Philip. All the pairs you find will go to the homeless. What does not match will go to our recycling program in Subbasement 1.”

He pointed to the rows of smaller bins arranged around the perimeter of the room. “To help you pair them up, we have provided you with bins for sorting. Each is marked with a different type. They are further subdivided by color, size and other distinguishing features.” He surveyed the selection of bins, then dropped the athletic sock into one marked MEN ATH 1 STRIPE. He made a quick decision on the next sock, putting it into WOMEN BUS BROWN, but then hesitated over the third specimen, an amoeba-ridden paisley print. He headed for WOMEN PSLY but changed his mind at the last moment, dropping the ugly sock into the bin labeled UNIQUELY HIDEOUS.

“You are welcome to change the labels and sort them any way you want. Once you fill up a small bin, search for pairs. Keep any pairs you find and report them, then wheel the unmatched socks up to Recycling.” Mr. Gabriel took one last look around and seeing that everything was in order, he said, “Well, I had better leave you to your work. The washroom is down the hall and to the left. The break room is over that way, too, and it has a phone. Just dial 1 if you have any questions.”

After Mr. Gabriel left, Phil stared at the chute for a while and sure enough, a sock fell just about every minute. They were warm and smelled freshly washed. Some of them were old and threadbare, while others were practically brand new. Every color of the rainbow was represented, as well as every style he’d ever seen before. He rested his elbows on the edge of the bin and wondered where to begin. A sock fell on his head. He absent-mindedly dragged the small sock down the side of his face and examined it. “You need this job, idiot,” he said quietly to himself. He took the sock over to the bins and started reading labels, finally depositing the sock into a bin marked GIRL PINK. Then he went back to the main bin, pulled out a fat mass of socks, and got down to business.

By lunchtime, he was utterly bored. However impressed he had been by the variety of socks when he first started, he was soon over it. He almost cheered when the stubborn clock finally hit noon. In the small break room, Phil got a chance to meet some of the other basement denizens: Todd from Money, Dave from Keys, and Fred from Frozen Foods. They greeted him kindly enough, but all of them had guarded expressions and seemed disinclined to chitchat. Phil sat next to Dave, who appeared to be the friendliest of the lot. Phil asked him about the company.

“This is a great place to work,” said Dave. “All of the promotions are from within, which means you work your way to the top for real. Everyone starts in Socks and then moves up from one department to the next. I worked in Socks for a year before I was transferred to Underwear. Boy, wasn’t that an interesting stint!” he said chuckling. “But I didn’t stay there long before I moved to Frozen Foods and then to Keys.”

“But what’s so great about Underwear or Keys?”

“You’ll find out after you’ve tried them yourself. And you will if you’re patient.”

Phil considered that comment many times during his days of sorting socks. Sometimes in the hallway he’d see one of the others wheeling a cart of junk up to recycling, but they wouldn’t tell him anything about their departments. He kept pressing Dave for more information on the company. Dave just shrugged the questions off saying, “You’ll find out when you get promoted a couple of times.”

One day, Phil got a little pushy during lunch. Dave, finally sick of Phil’s nonstop questions, stood up to leave and Phil caught his arm. “Wait a minute, Dave. Why is everyone so tight-lipped around here?”

Dave looked down at him, then spoke slowly, clearly choosing his words with care. “It’s part of the job, Phil. By being quiet, you prove you can be trusted. Prove you can be trusted and you get promoted. Prove that you can’t, and well, let’s just not go there, ok?” He pulled his arm out of Phil’s grasp and hurried away, leaving Phil more baffled than ever.