I’m participating in a Boomer Blogging Extravaganza which will take place every Friday. It’s a way to bring attention to the new genre of books called Boomer Lit. Click here, Boomer Lit Friday to go to your one-stop shopping boomer lit blog which will feature snippets from a variety of “baby boomer” novels. It’a a good place to get a taste of what boomer authors are writing about.
This is a section from Perigee Moon where I was trying out my satire and sarcasm, describing the work environment of Luke’s first job. He is newly married, and has taken the first job he is offered, and has doubts concerning his ability to fit into a rather provincial assemblage of coworkers. Here he describes what he sees and hears in the small company’s break room, which is where the women clerks, receptionists, typists and secretaries congregate to smoke, eat lunch and gossip. It is the early 70’s, when it was still okay to smoke at work and since it was early in the computer age, many business functions were performed manually, mostly by women.
And the thirty women went “on break”, and collected in the lunch room in groups of six or eight and smoked until you couldn’t walk through the room without inhaling the equivalent of an entire cigarette, and they talked about their kids and one-upped each other about which of their sons ate the most. He once walked in on a discussion of all-day venison, how easy it was to prepare (even though it took all day) – so tender you won’t believe you’re eating venison! – probably shot by their husbands, and fiancés, and boyfriends wearing red plaid jackets and caps that said Union WS 754 during some week in November when it became legal to gang up on a bunch of unsuspecting deer and shoot them between the eyes, and boy wasn’t killing helpless animals great, and handshakes and slaps on the back. Good job!
Once the deer was butchered it was up to the womenfolk to do something with it, so they seasoned it and cooked it for days in order to try to soften it up so that it could be somewhat chewed. And if it was so tender you’d “never know it was venison”, that seemed to indicate that perhaps venison, in itself, was probably not a delicacy, or even remotely edible, so why eat it at all? And further, once determined that venison is not fit to eat, the question can be asked, why shoot the poor deer in the first place except that he looked so good, so regal, all tied up there on the bumper of the pickup truck and driven through town for all to see, the catch of the day, and it had been so much fun to kill him.
After deer-hunting season, the women talked about all the things they could do with tomato soup, another topic he assumed they found interesting, and on any given day they could be heard competing with each other about babies and labor pains, one-upping each other there too. You’d think they would all be dead or hopelessly torn asunder from the sound of what they went through to birth those little things, now grown into lumps of flesh kept alive by McDonalds and Hostess Cupcakes.