Off To the Road 2: In Town
The boy goes to a big town, and gets a job.
The next morning, he went down to the North Dakota state employment office downtown Fargo, to see if he could pick up a job. He had gotten there early, before the doors opened, the sign reading: 'OPEN 9:00-5:00.' Being hungry, a cafe right there, he went in, remembering he hadn't eaten anything since the day before. On the menu was 'Sausage & Toast - - - 40 Cents.' There also was cereal, eggs, hash browns, pancakes, and Hominy Grits. Not sure what Hominy Grits were, nor even what hash browns were, certainly not wanting eggs, not hungry for pancakes, and not wanting cereal, seeming not right to have cereal in a cafe, he ordered the sausage and toast. Leaving the cafe, still not quite nine, time dragging on as always, when waiting for something, he would have to wait a bit longer.
He looked around some, looking at all the tall buildings in the city, unlike the small buildings in his home town where the largest building was the school, a three story K-12 school. He walked up to the corner, and then back again, and then up to the other corner and then back again, noting some of the sights he would like to check out some time, such as the movie theater having six different features shown on the marquee, unlike the movie house back home, showing only one movie, the movie there showing for three or four days.
Finally, lights on, someone opened the door; he was first in the line, the line building up fast. A group of people, mostly young men, seemingly coming out of nowhere, filing into the office, formed noisy lines to the registration windows. He was first; a clerk gave him a form saying, "Fill this out, then take it over there," pointing to another clerk sitting behind a desk. He looked over the form given to him, "Why do they want to know where I went to grade school?" he said to himself, filling out the blanks as well as he could. He got in a line again to give 'the other' clerk his form. "Where are all these people coming from?" he wondered, the lines now quite long. After a few minutes, he was in front of that clerk.
The clerk looked over the application, writing "1F" on it, saying "Go wait in that other room until they call your name."
After waiting for an half hour or so, sitting in several different chairs, looking at two year old magazines, and part of that day's newspaper, looking around to see if he recognized anyone, he heard his name called out. The clerk, having a large number of papers, mostly requests for help from farmers, shuffling through some of them, soon had a job for him. Writing up a referral sheet, the clerk handed it to him, saying, "This should do you quite well."
The farm was about 40 miles West of Fargo just off highway 10. He would have to hitchhike out there.
Walking back to his room, listening to the locus again, thinking, "That was pretty quick!", he would always judge employment office experiences against his experience here.
Back in his room, packing his clothes into the box/suitcase, not seeing his landlady; he thought, "She'll figure it out." Walking straight south to highway 10, he put his thumb out to hitch a ride to the farm, watching the traffic swish back and forth.
Almost immediately a kid driving a Duce hot rod stopped, saying 'Jump in, I'm going over to West Fargo, so if you are going that far you'll get there soon enough."
He told the kid he was going further than that, but this would be a good start, "Thank you very much for stopping."
The kid mumbled something about tuning up the 1949 V8 Ford engine stuffed into the 1932 Ford he was driving, getting it ready for the drag races out at the airport the coming weekend. "Do you ever go out to the drag races?"
"I've never been here in Fargo before yesterday, where are they held?"
"The official ones are at the airport."
"Maybe I'll get out there. Did you ever go to a rumble?"
"No," the kid chuckled, "I stay away for those kinds of things."
Getting out of the car in West Fargo, he looked about. This was long before they had any highway clean up projects, long before interstate 94 was put in; the shoulders of the highway were very cluttered with paper cups, candy wrappers, cigarette packages, newspapers, little splashes of wheat and corn, all sorts of debris.
He looked around some, looking at all the tall buildings in the city, unlike the small buildings in his home town where the largest building was the school, a three story K-12 school. He walked up to the corner, and then back again, and then up to the other corner and then back again, noting some of the sights he would like to check out some time, such as the movie theater having six different features shown on the marquee, unlike the movie house back home, showing only one movie, the movie there showing for three or four days.
Finally, lights on, someone opened the door; he was first in the line, the line building up fast. A group of people, mostly young men, seemingly coming out of nowhere, filing into the office, formed noisy lines to the registration windows. He was first; a clerk gave him a form saying, "Fill this out, then take it over there," pointing to another clerk sitting behind a desk. He looked over the form given to him, "Why do they want to know where I went to grade school?" he said to himself, filling out the blanks as well as he could. He got in a line again to give 'the other' clerk his form. "Where are all these people coming from?" he wondered, the lines now quite long. After a few minutes, he was in front of that clerk.
The clerk looked over the application, writing "1F" on it, saying "Go wait in that other room until they call your name."
After waiting for an half hour or so, sitting in several different chairs, looking at two year old magazines, and part of that day's newspaper, looking around to see if he recognized anyone, he heard his name called out. The clerk, having a large number of papers, mostly requests for help from farmers, shuffling through some of them, soon had a job for him. Writing up a referral sheet, the clerk handed it to him, saying, "This should do you quite well."
The farm was about 40 miles West of Fargo just off highway 10. He would have to hitchhike out there.
Walking back to his room, listening to the locus again, thinking, "That was pretty quick!", he would always judge employment office experiences against his experience here.
Back in his room, packing his clothes into the box/suitcase, not seeing his landlady; he thought, "She'll figure it out." Walking straight south to highway 10, he put his thumb out to hitch a ride to the farm, watching the traffic swish back and forth.
Almost immediately a kid driving a Duce hot rod stopped, saying 'Jump in, I'm going over to West Fargo, so if you are going that far you'll get there soon enough."
He told the kid he was going further than that, but this would be a good start, "Thank you very much for stopping."
The kid mumbled something about tuning up the 1949 V8 Ford engine stuffed into the 1932 Ford he was driving, getting it ready for the drag races out at the airport the coming weekend. "Do you ever go out to the drag races?"
"I've never been here in Fargo before yesterday, where are they held?"
"The official ones are at the airport."
"Maybe I'll get out there. Did you ever go to a rumble?"
"No," the kid chuckled, "I stay away for those kinds of things."
Getting out of the car in West Fargo, he looked about. This was long before they had any highway clean up projects, long before interstate 94 was put in; the shoulders of the highway were very cluttered with paper cups, candy wrappers, cigarette packages, newspapers, little splashes of wheat and corn, all sorts of debris.
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