And then as a female worker ..

"I think his name was Guige, the owner of the truck stop, that is...  Yes. That was his name. Odd but memorable, kind of soft and squishy and folded. Not all that good looking but a man nonetheless. I was a kid. First job. Serving. Guige liked to feel up the women working there. Yes. That's right. Liked to feel us up. I cried almost every night, even though I was a tough kid. I left home at 14 and never looked back. Now, neither of my names has much of a reputation in this town. My husband is a drunk and shit disturber. He is a heavy fellow. He works hard at the shop, cleaning pickup brakes of grease and mud cakes. He's not trusted with bigger jobs. Just like my dad, making jokes that scrape a woman's breasts and make you want to hide. As boys, that's probably OK, charming maybe for the likes of them. As men in their 40's and 50's - you don't expect that and no one needs it. 

"And me, I was verging on being an alcoholic - I cut back after the accident that almost killed me. One night about 3 AM after a good party I drove across a flat highway into the path of a semi. Wham. That was almost it. I was resuscitated twice. The rumor was that I had been killed. Don't look any the worse for wear, do I?

.

image © D. Wall

"One day Guige, just to get back to him, put his big, fat, ugly hands on my back and slid them down each side as I leaned over a counter, a cutting table in the rear of the place, through the swinging door in the corner. I knew he was not going to stop. I had a meat cleaver in my hand. Chicken, I think. Exploded. Swung around and his hand was nearly cut off at the wrist. Luckily everyone deemed it an accident.

"He could not learn. I did. He kept it up. Most other girls could quit. But someone like me needed the work, being kicked out of home and all.  I lost hours slowly until, "Sorry, no work today. Try tomorrow." Yeh. I quit. He deserves some little note somewhere placed quietly on a table, crumpled, unlikely, and waiting for anyone with an eye for truth and with inquiring fingers or inquisitive mind to open it up. 

"I think he lives in Saskatoon, driving fancy cars, living off the proceeds of harassed labour. I can't really add to that. You will have to ask others who worked there."

from the personal notes of Clara. Dated March, 2008. Confidential file #u87520.