US Gypsum - The Spatman Era

Many moons ago, I spent some time working at a local US Gypsum plant. For those who don't know, US Gypsum makes drywall (better known as Sheetrock). I know, it doesn't sound very exciting. And it's not. But, I did my best to make my brief stay there as memorable as it could possibly be. This is the story of my adventures and the emergence of my alter-ego, Spatman.

The bulk of my two and a half year stay at the gypsum plant was spent working as the “mixer operator”. I was responsible for controlling the “ingredients” that would eventually become the finished Sheetrock product. A large mixing machine would shoot wet “stucco” in between two moving layers of thick paper. My job was to make sure that the proper flow was maintained and that everything stayed at the right levels. I had to take test samples every thirty minutes. Yes, it was a boring, monotonous job but it gave me a lot of time to think.

My main tool was a long narrow spatula (simply know as a “spat” around the plant). By dipping the spat into the wet stucco, an experienced mixer operator could tell if all the ingredients were intact. By looking at the wet spat, I could see the fiberglass, vermiculite, etc. That's all you need to know about that......

On one midnight shift, the boredom drove me into a temporary episode of insanity. I tore off a generous amount of paper towels and tied them around my neck to resemble a long cape. As a group of coworkers came around the corner, I stepped in front of a fan and struck a Super Hero pose. I held my spat high while my cape flapped wildly behind me. The coworkers had this confused look on their faces. One of them finally asked, “Who are you supposed to be??”

I responded by simply saying, “I am Spatman! Leader of the Gypsum people!” And, just like that, a legend was born....

One my unique talents was that I could imitate certain superiors around the plant. I would often call my coworkers (posing as one of the foremen) and chew their asses out. I would say things like, “Hey Bob, I see you down there f*cking off! Get back to work or I'll send your ass up the road!” It was cruel but it made my day go by a whole lot quicker.

One time, I called a new guy up (posing as Mr. Stiller*) and told him to run up to the main office and bring back a board stretcher (This is an old construction site joke. There is no such thing as a “board stretcher”). I didn't think this dumbass would fall for it, but he did. The next thing I know, one of my coworkers says, “Hey Spatman, look who's coming. This can't be good.”

Here comes the rookie and the plant superintendant. Instead of asking one of the office workers for the stretcher, this moron goes right to the big man!

The Super says to the rookie, “So, who told you go get this board stretcher?”

The rookie says, “It was Mr. Stiller.”

Super responds, “Mr. Stiller? He's not even working today!!”

The rookie says, “Well, he said he was Mr. Stiller. And it sure sounded like him.”

I'd tried my best not to laugh. The Super was pissed but he couldn't prove who made the call. When the rookie passed me, he just mumbled, “You're an asshole.”

It got to the point where people didn't know if they where speaking to Spatman, the General Foreman or the President of the United States. One guy told me he actually hung up on the General Foreman several times because he thought it was me prank calling him. He got his ass reamed for that! Sorry......

When I wasn't prank calling coworkers, I would sometimes write little ditties about some of the more interesting people. It was all in good fun and everyone got a kick out of it. However one time, I went a little too far.

There was this one guy, Dickie*, who really liked to party. Ironically, Dickie actually resembled Tommy Chong. Well, it was around the holidays, so I thought everyone could use some Christmas cheer. So, I penned a song called Dickie the Burnout (sung to the tune of Frosty the Snowman). Seizing the opportunity, I fired up the PA system in the plant and started belting out:

“Dickie the burnout,
Is a jolly happy soul.
With a case of Bud and a fifth of Jack,
And some greens to fill his bowl....”

Keep in mind, my impressive vocals were blasted throughout the whole complex. Even the truckers outside the plant were treated to my acapella performance. I felt like I was playing at Madison Square Garden! The office workers scrambled to kill the PA system but I kept singing.

From my vantage point, I could see the workers on the floor below me. They were rolling. I could hear people laughing and saying, “It's freggin' Spatman!!” Honestly, I felt a little like Bruce Springsteen.

Well, shortly after my original rendition of Dickie the Burnout, Dickie himself came to pay me a visit. As he approached me, I was waiting for him to give me a high-five or something. After all, he had to appreciate that Spatman took the time to write a song in his honor, right? Not quite. Dickie was pissed!

In his Tommy Chong voice, he says, “Hey man, that's not cool. Why do you do shit like that? You're gonna get my ass fired. If the front office hears that stuff, they're gonna want me to take a piss test. And between me and you, I ain't passin' no piss test.” (Like he really needed to convince me of this)

I could tell that I really crossed the line with him. I immediately apologized. The last thing I wanted was to get someone fired for a stupid song (even if it was funny as hell!). And that was the end of my music career........

There was a wide variety of personalities in this place. There was this one guy, Marvin*, who worked in the quality department. Now, keep in mind, the quality department was in charge of making sure no damaged or inferior Sheetrock left the plant. Marvin would surely test the integrity of his department.

Spatman was a little nuts, but Marvin took craziness to a whole new level. One day, I saw him standing near my mixing machine with his back turned. I said, “Hey Marvin, what's up?”

He responds, “The pH level of your stucco mix!”

As I walk closer to him, I see that he's got his dick in his hand and he's standing there pissing into the mix! I couldn't believe it. He was really enjoying himself too. He laughs and says, “I wonder who's wall that piece is going to wind up on!”

Another time, a group of us went out for a few drinks after work. As he's standing at the bar, Marvin proceeds to relieve his kidneys. Yes, literally at the bar! The rest of us were scrabbling to get away from the river of piss that was rolling down the floor. This guy had some serious issues.......

There was this other guy, Jack*, who was obsessed with pornography. When he would open his locker at the beginning of the shift, a stack of skin mags would always fall out. No one could understand why Jack felt the need to bring this stuff to work. And, to add to the mystique, Jack would know the whole history and bio of all the girls in the magazines. He would speak with pride and enthusiasm as he brought us up to date on Miss January's new breast implants. It was more than a little disturbing.

Although it was mostly men that worked in the plant, there were a few females. And it always amazed me the way the guys reacted to the girls. They would act like adolescent boys discovering the opposite sex for the first time. I guess it might make sense if we were in a prison cell, but for an eight hour shift in a manufacturing plant, it seemed a bit over the top.

Moving on, there was a guy we referred to as "Sleepy John". His nickname was well deserved. I'm serious, this guy had trouble staying awake for more than five minutes at a time. He's the only person I've ever seen who could sleep while on his feet! He would have given Rip Van Winkle a run for his money.

Well, one day, a bunch of us hit a nearby basketball court after work. Sleepy John came along but we all figured we would just take a nap on one of the park benches. Anyway, he tells us that he's a decent ball player. We call his bluff and bring him on the court. I was concerned that he would fall alseep at midcourt and we'd all have to step over him. But to our amazement, basketball was the one thing that seemed to hold his attention. He was like Lebron James on the court. It was hard to comprehend.

There was this other character named Hoffberger*. He was a bit of a rough guy with a gravely voice that sounded like Froggy from The Little Rascals. This guy had this annoying habit of picking his nose or spitting while he was talking to you. One time, I was eating lunch in the break room and Hoffberger walks in. I immediately had the urge to eat my lunch somewhere else. He sits down right in front of me, and before he gets a word out, he buries his finger in his nose, up to the third knuckle. The guy was a real charmer.

Another time, from the second floor, I saw Hoffberger sleeping on his forklift below. I quickly transformed into Spatman and went to work. I took a huge roll of those brown paper towels and saturated them in a nearby sink. By the time I was done, I had a compressed ball the size of a small watermelon. This thing must have weighed about ten pounds! Anyway, I set my sights and hurled the water-bomb, from about forty feet above. It headed towards Hoffberger's forklift with the full force of gravity. As luck would have it, the projectile exploded right in the middle of his chest. Not only did it wake him up, it nearly drowned him!

A couple of other guys witnessed the ambush. They were trying to hold each other up as they doubled over with laughter. It was a proud moment for Spatman. If I knew how to dance, I would have definitely performed some kind of victory celebration.

Meanwhile, Hoffberger gathered his senses, and then came charging up the steps like a wounded animal. I have to admit, even though Spatman is supposed to be fearless, the thought of dealing with with this pissed-off guy was a little unsettling. I figured he already know who threw the water-bomb. But to my delight, Hoffberger says, “ Alright Spatman, who threw it??”

So, I did the only sensible thing and said, “I have no idea, Hoffberger. Why are you all wet??”

He just stared at me for a few seconds. I think he was contemplating whether or not to rip off my head. But I guess he figured that an assault on Spatman would be viewed as sacrilege by the rest of the plant. So, he just stormed off, back to his freshly washed forklift.

Although almost everyone was fair game for Spatman, there was one guy who I wouldn't mess with. His name was Carter*. I tell you, this guy was a true psycho. You would be talking to him and he would interject with crazy, off the wall comments like, “I like big titties” or “Do you know what happens to a body when it falls from a tall building and hits the sidewalk?”

I was seriously afraid of this guy and stayed as far away from him as possible. Years later, someone told me that Carter went on some kind of crime spree with his girlfriend and that he was now in prison. Wow, I never saw that one coming!

There was another guy that everyone referred to as Ragman. He would wear these tattered clothes to work every day. He made homeless people look like a wedding party. Every time I passed the guy, I felt the urge to hand him my spare change. I have no idea what his reasons were for dressing this way.

Meeting all of these characters gave me an idea. So, I started an impromptu newsletter simply known as The Gypsum Times. In my down time at the mixer (which was pretty much all the time), I would write short blurbs about all of the going-ons in the plant. For the brief time I did this, everyone got a real kick out of it. Hey, we were all stuck in the depressing place for eight hours a day. Why not lighten things up a little bit?

One day my foreman comes walking out with the latest issue of The Times. I tried to remember if I had given him any bad press. Anyway, he slaps it down on my desk and says, “Spatman, this shit's gotta stop. I'm getting all kind of heat from the office. I'm gonna have to shut you down.”

You would have thought that we were two executives from the Hearst Corporation.

And just like that, my publishing career came to an abrupt end. US Gypsum was squashing all of my dreams. As much fun as I was having, I knew the end was drawing near. Spatman was about to retire.........

For many reasons, I knew I needed to get out of this place. So, I eventually went in an gave my two weeks notice. I think everyone was shocked. After all, Spatman gave people hope, inspiration and a reason to come to work everyday. What were they to do now that he would be gone?

On my last day, the General Foreman walked up to me. I really thought he was going to lambaste me for all of my antics over the past couple of years. But to my surprise, he said, “Hey Spatman, it's been nice working with you. Best of luck to you. If you ever get into a jam, you'll always have a job here.”

Today, I occasionally run into people that work (or worked) at US Gypsum. I'll introduce myself as Ken. Then, I'll nonchlantly add,“They used to call me Spatman.” Then, they'll say, “Oh yeah, I've heard of you.”

The legend lives on.............

* the actual names have been changed to protect the innocent

KW