Teamster

Teamster

He stood up from behind his desk, penetrating eyes following me across the room, displaying a cold, gray stare like stone. His fingers rested on a stack of papers, displaying the rough, callused hands of a blue collar worker. Not exactly the image he portrayed in his steel-colored, Italian-made business suit. I could see in his face a calm, deliberate hostility as if he was simply showing anger as a warning to me to be careful what I said. His bullet-round head, keenly sharp nose, and slicked-backed hair, all gave me the impression of a man deadly serious, underscored by the thin, straight line of his lips. So this was the man I have been negotiating contracts with over the phone all these years, I thought. I half expected him to be wielding a baseball bat.