Through the first three or four weeks of the summer I didn’t spend any time around Sharon. I met her the first day when all the summer hires met in the bullpen, she seemed to ignore me, and subsequently I didn’t think much about her one way or the other. The plant was going into a summer maintenance shutdown that required round-the-clock workers. I volunteered to work 2nd shift-- there was more pay—and stayed on that shift all June. When I broke back to the day shift I was more likely to spend my breaks and lunch with Tim or some of the other guys and wasn’t much aware of any of the women that were now working with us. Unless one of them was assigned to work in your crew it was kind of outta sight, outta mind.
That changed one hot July day during afternoon break. When it was break time you went to the closest place there was air conditioning. That could be a plant control room, a pump house, anywhere you could cool off. The day in question I was close to the locker room where there was a large area with seating for nearly a hundred at lunch time. During this break there were only about a dozen people there. I was sitting with a couple of buddies and noticed Sharon and another girl sitting about twenty feet away at another of the big lunch tables. There was nothing blocking my view of her profile. Now everyone wore long-sleeved coveralls, hard hats, and work gloves in the chemical plant for safety. So on this very hot and humid day we were all trying to cool off during the break. Sharon had undone her hair, usually pinned up inside her hard hat, and it fell loose past her shoulders. She had unbuttoned her coveralls to the waist, pulled her arms from the sleeves and then tied the sleeves around her waist. She had a sleeveless white t-shirt on and that was the first time I got a look at some of the body those baggy work clothes had been covering up.
Sharon was a slender girl of about 5’6 and in that t-shirt it was clear—the girl was more than a little bit top heavy. In 2009 someone looking at her would figure those babies were fake, but back then that circumstance was a lot rarer. She was also one of those people who look reasonably attractive in the face but if you study each feature none of them are exactly stunning. For example, her nose was a little crooked—not hockey player crooked—but it had a wee dogleg left. Her eyes were clear and blue but not awe inspiring. Her lips? Kinda thin. Her hair was long, wavy and blond. Don’t get me wrong, she was cute—just not drop dead gorgeous. But you couldn't deny that, given her height and weight, she was stacked. And let’s just say that was workin’ for her in a big way. Beyond that there was no way to tell about her legs and ass since she was in those big baggy coveralls. I know. I know. It sounds pretty shallow of your dear and loyal scribe-- all of this ogling of the physical. But remember, at this point I didn’t really know Sharon, hadn’t even had a conversation with her, and the dropping of the top part of the over-garment was a revelation. Plus, it was really hot and humid. Dammit, we’re talking first impressions here so just give me a break! So I had gotten half an eyeful of Sharon, but it didn't mean much really since I didn't even go over and talk to her. I just went back to work when the break was done. However, I filed away that she was cute and had an attractive figure. Yep, I just checked, that’s what it says here in my first entry in her dossier.
About a week later I was waiting for my dad to pick me up after work. The summer before we always rode in together but now that I had a car I usually drove. I was hourly, and when the whistle blew it was hit the locker room, shower, dress, and head out without having to wait for pops to give me a ride home. But this day I rode in with him for some long-forgotten reason so had to wait for him at the guard shack. As I sat on the sidewalk, my back against a brick wall, I witnessed something that made me actually stop thinking about the nap I was going to take when I got home. It was Sharon, walking alone in my direction. She was coming from the women’s locker room and looked squeaky clean. She was wearing a tight white top and chocolate colored shorts. I don’t remember if this was during the time shorts like that were called short-shorts or if they were currently being called hot pants, but they were short and tight whatever they were called. For the first time I saw that she had great legs and a fine little caboose.
Things were looking up.
Actually I was looking up at her as she walked over to where I was sitting.
“Hey, Bill. It is Bill, right?”
“Everybody calls me Wil,” I said.
“Hi Wil. I’m Sharon Malone,” she said.
“Have a seat, Sharon. I saved you a place right here,” I said, pointing to about twenty feet of empty concrete.
She sat against the wall with her shapely legs out in front of her. She had white flip-flops on. She smelled like shampoo and soap.
We talked while we waited. She seemed pretty bright. She went to a small private school in the state that I had heard of but never visited. She laughed at a lot of what I said. Either she thought I was amusing or she was flattering me. Either way worked for me. A tiny white car was coming and she got to her feet.
“That’s my ride,” Sharon said and I recognized her dad, the head of HR, behind the wheel and gave him a nod.
“See ya tomorrow, Wil.”
“What kinda car is that?”
“A Honda,” she said.
“Like the motorcycles?” I said.
She shrugged. Smiled. Waved. And got into this preposterous little clown car.
A little while later my dad pulled up. I got in and said, “What kinda car is that little white thing that Malone the HR guy drives?”
“Sompthin' Japanese. I dunno who makes it. He says it gets great gas mileage. I think it’s called a City or something like that. Supposed to be for people that live in the city. Sure can't haul much in it,” dad said.
“Where do they live?”
“Hmmm. I think Malone lives over in ____right near ____ Country Club,” he said.
“That ain’t exactly the city, dad.”
“Nope. Guess not.”
The following Friday at lunch a bunch of the guys were talking about going out drinking after work. We were trying to let everyone know so we could have a huge crowd at this dive just ten minutes from the plant. I volunteered to let “the girls” know and went over to where they were all sitting together.
“Ladies, we’re all going out to have a few drinks at Captain Nemo’s right after work. I’m sure we can count on all of you rookies to show up, right?” I said.
They were pleased to be asked it seemed. I stayed and talked to the group until the whistle sounded and everybody headed out into the plant. Sharon hung back. She told me she didn’t think she could make it since she was riding home with her father.
I, being gallant to a fault, offered to give her a lift to the aforementioned tavern.
She wondered aloud how she might get home afterwards.
I suggested that I could also provide adequate transportation back to her abode.
“Cool!” she said.
“I’ll pick you up at the guard shack,” I said.
At five minutes before four PM I drove up to the guard shack in my little Italian two seater. The top was down. The radio was on. Sharon jumped in wearing skin tight jeans, a tight white top and sandals. We roared off to the bar. I was quite certain this leggy blond with the nice rack upgraded the value of my $400 roadster just by putting her cute ass on the seat.