Sac.

Being laid off isn't so bad. All concept of time goes out the window. Tuesday might as well be Saturday, and the fine State of New York pays for my laziness. That's not to say it's time entirely wasted. I've been catching up on my reading at least. And besides, I still work three or four days a week when the guy I work for on the side needs me to come in and bail him out. It's not a bad gig.

My stepfather, Craig, is also working for Tom with me right now since his sheet metal business is slow. The two of them go back twenty years so it's funny to watch them interact. Tom never refers to Craig by name. It's always "Good morning, Dickhead," or "Hey Mike, where's Asshole hiding?" And the gay jokes, can't forget the gay jokes. One time Craig made the mistake of saying "Fredo, my man!" to this Mexican gentleman as Tom walked by silently in the background. Later on in the afternoon Tom confronted Craig about "his man," and asked if there was anything going on between the two of them. Craig's not as quick with the comeback as Tom and usually just curses him out while storming away, tools clenched tight in hands. I absorb all of it and receive Tom's subtle winks with a secret pleasure.

Sometimes it's more akward than amusing to work with my stepfather and watch him be the butt of the joke. It turns out construction workers are perverts. There was a six-month period where Tom would not say "Good morning" to me, but opted for a more direct "Ya eat any pussy last night?" It was a comical way to start the day, and most of the time it was harmless. Until of course one time when I made a point to make Tom proud one night so I could answer in the affirmative the next morning, and after hearing the good news Tom took it upon himself to approach me and Craig as we were working. "Hey, Asshole. The Kid ate some pussy last night, I'm proud of him," at which point my stepfather and I laughed uncomfortably since my girlfriend at the time had just come over for dinner two nights previous. It's not so easy to switch back and forth between family and coworker at times like that, and things get even more complicated when the joke is on Craig since he's married to my mother.

One such instance occurred last week. It was unseasonably warm in the plant where we were working and all of us had walked back and forth for tools or material at least twenty times over the course of the day. Sweating profusely plus walking long distances equals chafing. As the bunch of us working for Tom washed our hands at the end of the day this subject came up. Craig mentioned how badly chafed his balls were. Another fellow, who must not have known our relation, told him to stop whining and have the old lady take care of it. Craig responded with "I can't, they're so torn up from working for Tom that she won't go near them!" What was I to do? Pretend not to have heard? Laugh uncomfortably? Express pride in my mom's better judgment? "Yeah, Ma, that's right. Stay away from those nasty red balls, you're better than that!" But instead I dried my hands and made sure to avoid eye contact on the way out of the bathroom.

And there it was. And so we are. God bless the American Way.