It struck me as kind of funny, well as an empty, unbelievable funny-it would have broken most men. The trend was there, right there on the evening news; no longer were old timers like me retiring. I had thought that I was different, a simple blue collar man. I had earned retirement. I had earned the time to spend with my family.

“I’m leaving this place,” W.D. said. The hood was awkwardly heavy. “Lift your end up a bit.” His short fingers started each bolt.

“Where you going?”

“Amherst Motors is building a big shop. I’ve already been doing some work out there.” The shop was dark, half the fluorescent tubes were black; another third flickered and buzzed. “How ’bout that? She lines up on the first try.”

“That’s something.”

“Did you learn anything at school today?” The smoke moved around W.D.’s grooved skin, the ash longer than the filter.

“No.”

Across the dust and chemicals, at the same time, men worked and talked slowly. The shop was emptier than normal.

“You didn’t know about that.” Coleman was smoothing out the rough edges of the body filler. “No, I really hadn’t heard.” Jerry’s hands moved fast, unfastening screws and bolts; his head was angled, sharpening his focus.

“Yeah, last week John had me rip off an airbag, you know for that Acclaim he’s having me fix.” “Why would he do something like that?”

“Those things are expensive. They’re filled with gold dust, hundreds of dollars.” “I know that. Weren’t you afraid of getting caught?”

“No, I had it down to ten minutes. All you need is one socket.”

“Have you gotten the exhaust fixed on your Camaro yet.”

Across heated air and prepped cars men worked and talked slowly in the back two bays, where the painters lived.

“Did you mix up any epoxy?” Mr. Thomas was close to retirement, his motions were economical. Sam didn’t hear him.

“Mr. Thomas, is it getting close to three.” There was a pause in their work.

“Five more minutes.” He operated off his wristwatch and no other.

“Say, Mr. Thomas, how many more months ’til you retire.” Sam was smiling, his head shaking back and forth from incessant exposure to chemicals.

“Fourteen and a half. I can’t wait,” he smiled, placing a razor blade on the table; it was three o’clock.

W.D.’s eyes raised from appreciating his work. The bossman was back. John pulled in front of the shop driving his new royal blue Durango. Mr. Thomas passed W.D., getting his usual Pepsi from the machine.

“Must be three.”

“Sure is.” Mr. Thomas moved closer to investigate. “This one cleaned up nice.”

The office door opened. John entered the shop, surveying the scene as he walked. He was a thin man who carried extra pounds from lack of exercise. He leaned against the drink machine.

“So, how was your trip. Can you believe Earnhardt pulled if off, he finally won it.” W.D. showed no expression.

“Twenty some years of trying.” Mr. Thomas knew time well.

“It was unbelievable. I really hate Earnhardt, but it was still something else. The girls down there were amazing though, models, they were gorgeous. I’ve never seen bikinis like this before.” “Yeah, that’s the way they wear them in Florida.”

“We drove home crazy, going 90 and 100 for most of the way.”

I had no other choice; it definitely wasn’t a selfish act. My salary is a percentage of the profit, so when someone isn’t pulling their weight... I’m the one that keeps this dealership running, I bring in the serious money , people should get paid for what they do.

At first he cut off overtime and made everyone take a full hour for lunch. Work was slowing down, maybe he was going to let some of the younger guys go, but I never imagined. My grandson turned fourteen this year, and I went to work for my brother under the table.

One month later, thirteen and a half to go, after twenty-five years, John called Mr. Thomas into his office. He was old beyond his years, yellowed eyes, his skin red and blotchy, his hands motioned involuntarily, his nervous system had been altered from the chemicals. It was five minutes until three.

“You know that work has been pretty scarce these days.”

“Yeah.” The office was small and square; there were no windows. Mr. Thomas’s knees touched the front of the metal desk.

“Well, I am forced to give you two choices.” John’s words were so brief that Mr. Thomas had a hard time letting them soak in. “You can either stay here and have your hours cut, or you can start working out at the shop on 460 three days a week. That is the best I can do. I’ll let you think about it.”

He stood up silently and went back to work even more quietly, not even responding to Sam.

The land I just bought on the lake needs to be cleared off sometime, all that brush needs to be burned off. I just never have enough time. Susan keeps talking about vacation, going to the beach. She doesn’t understand the responsibility, what it takes to be successful.

He forced me out. I can’t afford a lawyer, I could no longer afford the gas to get to work out on 460; my paycheck wasn’t paying the bills, everyone else went back to normal hours but me, not me. It wasn’t so many years for nothing that was funny, it wasn’t being humiliated that was funny, it was that I kept on going.

His boots shuffled across the concrete floor, his hand finding enough change in his pocket. He checked his watch, two more hours.