Two buckets sit at Ed’s workstation. They are his best friends. Five days a week, eight hours a day, Ed takes two pieces of metal from one, welds them together, and places them into the other. This takes anywhere from 25 to 35 seconds, which is the mandated amount of time his company has given him. Anything faster means a weak joint and anything slower is either a waste of filler, poor use of time, or both.
He finishes a piece and stretches. A forceful cough rattles throughout his chest and into the surrounding haze of metal dust.
Goddamnit. They keep getting worse.
“You gotta go easy on those Camels, bro,” jokes Kyle as he pokes his head out from the neighboring booth.
Ed scoffs and waves him off. He has not had a cigarette in over twenty years and his coworker knew that. Hacking, whooping, wheezing and all other types of expectoration occur often. Kyle enjoys giving him a hard time about it - and a lot of other things as well.
“It’s these damn fumes,” replies Ed.
“Bro, you gotta get Zyns. Way safer.”
“I only have one addiction and I’m about to go get a hit.”
“Bet. Enjoy your break.”
Kyle puts on his welding helmet and disappears behind the barrier wall. Short bursts of light appear from his booth. The smell of melting aluminum returns to the work area.
Ed sheds his gear and makes his way over to the breakroom. He digs around his pockets and grabs four quarters, the same amount he brings everyday. He jingles them in his hand as he passes through the doorway. Just then, something catches his attention. He freezes.
What the hell? Where did it go?
Coins clang to the floor, waking him from a state of shock. A faded water stain is all that remains of the Mellow Fellow soda machine that once stood there. Ed darts to the vacant spot and feels the empty air just to be sure. His lunchtime soda was the only thing he looked forward to each day.
Those goddamn assholes.
He rummages through two adjacent fridges hoping that someone left a can or two. Nothing. Ed hurries back through the factory floor, maneuvering around piles of cutting machine scraps. A flood of grinder sparks bounce across his path, but he marches through unconcerned. Each step is matched by the thump of a stamping machine. The hiss of gas and zaps of spot welds fade into the background as he climbs the stairway to his manager’s office.
Three loud thuds fill the hallway as Ed knocks on his boss's door. Nothing happens. Thumpthumpthump. Still no answer. Ed places his head against the door and hears a muffled voice. He begins again, this time hammering in sharp, rapid succession. The door swings open just as he was about to knock for the sixty-fourth time.
“What is going on?!” His manager answers with all the heat of a welding torch.
“The Mellow Fellow machine is gone. Why?”
“Jesus. Are you serious? That’s what all this noise is for?”
“This is important. I buy soda from it everyday. I can’t have lunch without it.”
Ed’s manager takes a deep breath while running his hand through the small amount of hair he has left.
“I didn’t realize you were so… passionate about it, Ed. To be honest, I didn't think anyone used that thing. It doesn’t even take Apple Pay.”
“I bring exact change.”
“I gotta be honest with you, Ed. It costs us too much money to keep it running. We lose $50 a year on it. Or something like that.”
“You’re about to have a riot on your hands.”
Ed turns and marches back down the stairs to the shop floor. He doesn’t see the tired look on his manager’s face, but he does hear his half-hearted reply.
“Is this really how it's going to be?”
Yes.
—
WE WANT MELLOW FELLOW emblazons the top of the flyers in Ed’s hands. He had spent the night before printing them out and tries to convince his coworkers to take one as they enter the plant. Most people ignore his plea to return the vending machine and to end this “unamerican tyranny”.
Typical.
To him this was just more evidence of the complacency of modern Americans. Everyone was fine leaving injustices in place, unabated. We are all more concerned with sports gambling or TikTok trends.
With a few minutes left before the morning shift Ed makes his way inside, but is stopped before he can get very far.
“Ed-man. I didn’t know you were part of the drive.”
Ed turns back around and sees his workstation neighbor grinning at him.
“Drive?”
“For the… union,” Kyle responds, quieting his voice as he says the last word.
“I don’t know what you mean.” Ed holds up the homemade fliers and continues, “This is about my rights as an American.”
Kyle takes a moment to read the bold lettering at the top of the page.
“I didn’t know anyone drank that stuff anymore. You were really big on it?”
Ed shuffles the papers in his hands and creates a messy stack that he places inside of his bag.
“It doesn’t matter. No one cares.”
“I do. Are you free after work? You should roll with us tonight.”
—
The Black Cat is a local haunt for cheap beer and not much else. Ed arrives well past the meeting time his coworkers told him. They welcome him over to their booth, unphased by their new arrival’s timing.
“Ed-man, thanks for coming!” Kyle says as they shake hands. “We were just talking about things we want to see management do.”
“Like get the Mellow Fellow machine back?”
Kyle smiles and a few others at the table let out half-hearted chuckles.
“We appreciated those flyers. None of us have ever used that machine - it doesn’t take Apple Pay.”
Ed is not one-hundred percent sure he knows what he meant, but decides to offer up something anyway “Four quarters is all it needs. We should demand it come back.”
“I feel you bro, but we’re thinking of things like improved workplace safety. Better gear would help that cough of yours.”
“Sounds more expensive than a dollar’s worth of change.”
“Dude, we would have them pay for it. Plus, none of us get paid shit and don’t get any vacation, so we’d want that too. Y’know, important stuff.”
“What’s more important than enjoying the small things in life, like having your favorite soda at lunchtime?”
“Bruh, that stuff must hit different for you,” Kyle says as his unwavering smile takes more effort to maintain. He turns to the other coworkers and continues, “We’ll talk about it with other union folks and see what they say. Regardless, are you willing to strike with us?”
Ed nods. Now we’re getting somewhere.
—
Ed finishes putting the final piece of welding gear on when he hears a knock on the side of his workstation wall.
“Morning, Ed. Can you come up to my office please?”
Ed grumbles as he sheds his armor, but is able to hide his true feelings to himself. As he follows his manager he gazes up towards the large tinted glass office windows. Each day he knows someone is up there watching in oppressive silence. Once inside, the manager sits behind his desk and offers Ed a chair. He shakes his head and remains standing.
“This will be quick anyways.”
Ed watches as his manager takes a sip of coffee before continuing, “I saw you handing out flyers yesterday. What was that about?”
“The Mellow Fellow machine.”
“Like I said, we don’t have the budget for it.”
“Well, me and the coworkers were talking and we’re going to strike unless you bring it back.”
His manager sits up straight and clasps his hands in front of him.
“That’s quite the serious thing, Ed. The “s” word can land you in hot water.”
“All I want is a cold Mellow Fellow. I think after decades of service I earned it.”
His boss stares at him and after a moment relaxes back into his chair.
“I think I can make that happen. Who else were you talking to? I’d love for all of us to chat.”
Ed replies and heads back down to the shop floor. He reflects on the power of collective action as he walks past his coworkers stooped over their welding stations. Each one crafting a miniature masterpiece with their own hands. As he returns to his workspace he greets the two buckets waiting loyally for him. The smell of molten metal and sweat comfort him as he gets back to work.
As he finishes up his 178th part of the day he hears a knock on the divider wall. He turns to see Kyle holding up a twelve pack of Mellow Fellow. A grin spreads across his coworkers face. Ed catches a glimpse of the ever-present Zyn poking out from beneath his lip.
“Thanks for coming yesterday Ed-man. I know you’re big on these and since the machine is gone, we grabbed this pack for you.”
“That’s nice of you,” Ed says as he places the gift next to one of the buckets. “I have some good news: our manager agreed to bring it back.”
“Hell yeah bro! What did you have to do?”
“Well, I told him that we’d go on strike unless he brought it back.”
Kyle straightens up, folding his arm across his chest. He closes his eyes for a moment and breathes a long sigh through his nose. The nicotine pouch smile now gone.
“Did you tell him about us? About the union?”
Ed nods.
“Bruh, why the fuck would you do that?”
“I just want to relax on my breaks with a cold Fellow.”
“Our thing is bigger than a soda machine, dude. We want to make sure everyone here is safe and paid what they’re owed. You’re worth more than a can of soda.”
Ed fidgets with the welding helmet in his hands. He examines the soot on his fingers before wiping them on his jeans.
“All of us on the floor hear your coughs. We want you to be able to afford to go to the doctor. That’s all.”
Ed looks down at his feet. Across the shop floor welds crackle. Sounds of slag scraping and metal clanks fill the empty space between the two coworkers. He traces an electric cable with his eyes following its weave through empty boxes and supplies. It passes next to the pack of Mellow Fellow gifted to him a moment ago; twelve cans packed together in a common purpose.
“You’re right Kyle. I think I can make this right”
He relays his plan to him and they set off to the other workstations along the assembly area. Soon they have a large group of welders and machinists following them to the rear of the plant. Ed recognizes many of them from the night before.
The group splits as they reach the two dumpsters that sit near the loading bay. Ed motions to one and Kyle leads his half over to it. They hoist him up to look inside. As he digs around, he tosses stacks of flattened cardboard out of his way and some tumble onto the ground. After a moment he turns towards Ed and shakes his head. The workers help him back down as the rest of the group lift Ed to examine the remaining dumpster. He lets out a cheer when sees what they’ve been looking for. Lying on top of a pile of garbage bags is the Mellow Fellow machine.
“It’s here! Help me get it out.”
Ed climbs into the large refuse container with a number of his cohort following him. They wade through piles of discarded waste to get to the machine. It takes a moment for them to find leverage, but with a single heave they manage to set it on the edge of the dumpster. Its momentum causes Ed and a few others to lose their footing.
“Watch out!” Ed yells as the machine topples over the side and crashes to the ground. The metallic crunch-thud reverberates throughout the cavernous loading docks. Ed can hear the hiss of punctured aluminum soda cans and he silently mourns their lost potential.
“Sorry about that Ed-man,” Kyle offers.
“Let's get this thing inside.”
Six workers hoist the defunct dispenser onto their shoulders. With care, they head back in with the others following behind in processional. A silence fills the shop floor as they enter. Workers poke their heads out from their booths to see what’s going on. A few return back to their work, but some remain and take off their helmets, hugging it close to their chest.
The group winds its way up to the manager’s office, leaving a dotted trail of sticky soda to memorialize the journey. With a loud thud they place the Mellow Fellow machine upright facing the door. Ed knocks continuously until the manager swings the door open with force.
“What the hell is going on here?”
“We got the machine back on our own. Forget what I said earlier.”
“Stop joking. Put that thing back in the trash.”
“No. And I - we’ve been thinking. You don’t treat us right around here.”
“Is this really about the soda machine? Look, I wanted to wait and surprise you all, but I just ordered a brand new one.”
Ed straightens himself out. I wonder if it has more flavors? He imagines how each one would pair best with certain lunches. The strawberry one has always intrigued him. He shakes the thought out of his head. A distraction.
“It's not about this machine, it’s about us. Tell him what we want, Kyle.”