College Boy at the Window Factory

Forty years ago this month, I was a factory worker for a brief moment. Amazingly, it was not my first factory job; a year earlier, I had worked at a London carpet factory during a summer abroad. 

Nothing is more crushing or panic-inducing than not knowing what you want to do with your life. I still have nightmares about my father, a child of the Depression, pressuring me after college ended to get a job. Any job.

That was bad advice, but he, as a physician, didn’t have any better counsel for a liberal arts major. In college, I envied my pre-med, pre-law, and pre-architecture school peers whose paths were set.

After my 1984 graduation, I stayed in New Haven to try to figure things out. While I’d previously held a job or two, the whole work-for-the-rest-of-your-life thing still felt unreal, like auditioning for a role. I bought newspapers, drank coffee, and circled prospects just like they did in the old movies before LinkedIn and monster.com.

I had no idea what I was qualified for and even less concept of how long and grueling an 8-hour workday would be. Desperate to get my father off my back, I applied for a job as a grunt at an Andersen window factory. 

I don’t remember where it was located in Connecticut. I do recall the agony of setting my alarm for 4:30 a.m. so I could put on my jeans and work boots and take a bus to arrive for my first day by 7:00 a.m. It didn’t help that in those days, I stayed up partying until at least 1:00 a.m.

My coworkers, even the hiring manager, did nothing to disguise their contempt for me. They mockingly referred to me as “College Boy.” Here, that was a badge of dishonor.

In retrospect, I have no idea what I did for those endless 8 hours. I was vaguely fascinated by the aisles and aisles of window units. I remember whiling the time away as I occupied myself traipsing up and down those aisles, pretending I had some function while the other men did real work involving order fulfillment and producing yet more windows.

I was so forlorn in my lackey role that when I got off – I like to think a horn sounded throughout the factory – I went to the nearby Friendly’s and consoled myself with an ice cream sundae before boarding the bus back to New Haven.

I worked at the window factory for three days. I hated everything about it, and by Thursday, I could not bring myself to return. The workers and managers who called me College Boy knew it would end this way. I still don’t understand why they hired me in the first place.

I was surprised when I received a check in the mail for my three-day stint. I did not expect any compensation and felt I deserved nothing. By paying me for my lousy efforts, they showed me more respect than I did by ghosting them on day four.

My dad had warned me that majoring in English would ruin me. It certainly did not prepare me for my taste of Real Life 101 in the Connecticut window factory.