The Hungry Keyboard

Perfectly Imperfect Writings. And Stuff.

Banks Chapter 3

Just as the last box skidded down the spinning metal rollers, the whistle blew and Earnestine and the rest of the employees at the Boston cardboard manufacturing company readied themselves for their seond jobs at home caring for their families. ERnestine’s mind was on what to do with those remnanats of her father in law. She had not been kept in the dark as to their conents, as had Banks.
Victor had been found dead from a assumed heart attack in is smokey hotel room a week after Vic had hopped the train for the Army. Being his only next of kin left in the states, Ernestine actually had helped pack these broken down liquor store boxes from Vic’s humble single room in the Volare’ Hotel that Victor had resided in for the past  2 years. He had worked out his rent as a general fix it man at the hotel. . All he really had to pay for was his cigarettes, food, vodka and the occasional big boobed brainless bombshell that slid into his seedy night.
Ernestne knew that Vic would want to keep the pictures of his mom in her younger years. She knew that he would want his dad’s pocket knife. There was a large manilla envelope that was sealed and honestly she didn’t want to know what was in there.
As the whiste blew, the last box of the day got caught in the cutter as the operator shut down for the day. This jump in the cutting process caused the box to get one of the top flaps accidentally cut off. Seeing that the box was now useless, it was tossed in a pile to be burned.
On her walk out of the factory, she noticed the box being carried to the burn pile. She stopped and remembered those boxes from granpa Vic in a stack in her bedroom apartment. They were falling apart and this box, albeit slightly damaged, was much sturdier and all of Victor’s ancient and dusty contents would fit in it. When Vic returned from the war, he would be able to sort through his father’s things. Having it all in one big box will be easier.
And besides that, Ernestine felt kinda sorry for the lop eared brown cardboard box about to be incinerated. It wasn’t the boxes fault that it got it’s ear cut off. It was a good box. Perfectly squaare when folded out. The only writing on the box was ‘Boston Cardboard Manufacturing’.  The boxes were stamped with the receiving companie’s information when they were received. These boxes were sturdily built to hold a lot of weight and last a long time. That’s why they were so popular among businesses for shipping.
After getting the obigatory clearance from her floor supervisor that it was ok to take the imperfect box home, Ernestine put her long coat on, flung her purse over her left shoulder and tucked the still-flattened box under her right arm and sat about the walk home.
As she walked she was making a mental list of what she needed to do when she got home.  Getting Victor’s things consolidated into one box would be nice. It might seem trivial to many but to an organized and efficient woman of her time, those unsightly and frayed liquor boxes were irritating to say the least in their simple but orderly and dusted apartment.