Tlacuilos | Chronicles to document the everyday

Tlacuilos | Chronicles to document the everyday

Tlacuilos | Chronicles to document the everyday

PARAMOUNT, CA., 1978.- The weekend ended. At the end of the day of Friday, the cooperation for the beers was collected. Comte Beto del Montecarlo went to bring them. He was the keeper, and boy was he prepared. So, when leaving the industrial warehouse of Caravan Motorhomes, in the parking lot already waited the "chelas" or "heliodias" to dismiss the week.

In the trunk of a Montecarlo, Beto had made a cooler where they placed the beers to celebrate the work week. Photo: José Fuentes-Salinas

Bob, one of the owners and supervisor of the company, turned a blind eye. It just closed the factory door to avoid compromises. From Zacatecas, Sinaloa, Michoacán ... the compas who buzzed tools every day, joked, and talked about the family here and there, the cars, what happened in the week, of nothing ... Of everything. They were firing on Bob's friend who seemed to work a lot, hurrying back and forth, but in the end what he did was get into Motor Homes and listen to the radio.

Carpenters, welders, assemblers, painters ... Here you learn everything, compa. Vicente was being flogged because he came from La Piedad, Michoacán, but suddenly he was already a specialized mechanic.

"This guey made pots in the terri," said Ramón.

"And you made guaraches in Purépero, bastard ... Ja aaaa ..."

Friday was the day of the check. Those who had "overtime" sipped beer with more gusto. Knowing that on Saturday they would go to the San Pedro Seafood Market, give themselves a feast, or the paramount Swap Meet to "chacharear."

For the Zardo, this was a learning experience. There, in California, he knew what real work was like, as Mexicans do. With two years of university study, I was proud to see that check that would soon change to Wilmas's store, and perhaps he could scratch it a bit to buy a garrita to look good in English as a second language night school.

"The only jobs that do not fit for a fuck are the ones that pay badly and do not learn." The Zardo, at twenty, did not take that "dirty" job. nothing, "it was said, as he paid attention to the way Vicente welded and cut sheets with automatic tools that he would then learn to use.

And finally, with a beer in his hand, he celebrated with everyone the way that home cars came out every day, with a precision of a perfect production chain.

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