Christmas Party at Water Lift, According to Girl

Christmas party at Water Lift according to Girl: Water Lift—new job, new dress, awesome party, splendid date. It began with soldering school that spring. I went to classes for a week. Driving back and forth to Kalamazoo every day with a very tall girl, Jillian, who was hired in the same week. We thought it would be easier to share the driving responsibilities and gas. She had graduated a year ahead of me from Creston High School (home of the Polar Bears). She was pretty, and very tall—over six feet. She could have been a model, or a dancer. But she, as did I, found the help wanted ad in the paper that previous weekend and chose to work in a "clean" factory environment, wearing jeans and sweatshirts, as opposed to working on a semi-assembly line. It was one huge room, big enough to park a few planes inside, with partitioned cubbies for the managers. We had twelve foot tables put together and had three shifts working around the clock on the latest project—the winning bids from the airline industry. The tables were filled with gray plastic bins, much like a busboy would use to clear a table, and the bins were filled with green circuit boards of all sizes and shapes. The object of the game was to find the right transistor, diode, or resistor with the correct colors and twist and bend the wires to fit in the teeny holes, then use a wire cutter, solder, and flux and present our foreman with the beginnings of a beautiful bouquet to grace the landing gear of a jet plane.


School didn’t help, my soldering skills were zip. I hated it. The smell, smoke, burned fingers and worst of all, my rejects, did nothing for my self image. How could this be? I was never, ever really bad at anything. I tried harder, used more flux, less flux, hotter irons, quicker moves, but I just couldn’t get past the inspectors. I wanted to do well, I tried everything I could think of, and it did not help. I was called into the office, we discussed job performance, and I was moved.

The fall came, and all the girls in the lunch room were so excited. They were lighting up one cigarette after another as they talked. Sandwiches were left uneaten and chattering was at a deafening decibel.

"Jillian, what’s going on?"

Management had just posted news on the annual Christmas Party. It was to be held at a banquet hall, the company was providing the food, refreshments, dancing and entertainment. We could bring a date. Our tables filled with middle-aged women and young girls just out of high school, all were getting ideas for what to wear and who to bring.

"Mike, can you make it to my work Christmas Party?"

He said he wouldn’t miss it, he would be in Grand Rapids on his school break, staying with his brother George, and we could go together.

My new dress was red, short, with eight big plastic buttons down the front (four on each side), with a black collar. I wore patent leather black boots with a black bag to match. My coat was black wool. It was short, with a belt of the same wool with a big silver buckle.

I had black gloves and a scarf to keep me warm on that cold December night.

We started the night out with introductions; Mike met tall Jillian, the girls from the line, and my boss, Larry, who was so kind when I got bumped off the soldering line.

We hit the drinks next.

The band played on.

We danced as lovers do—twirling in each other’s arms. The world could have been watching us, but we did not know, it was just Mike and me.

I wanted it to be the two of us forever.

Once in a while, when getting on a plane these days, I wonder about the transistors. I wonder about the circuit boards that had passed through my hands. Some of those planes are decades old.

I shake myself and wake up.

Impossible.

My stuff never passed. The world is safe.

Thank goodness.