i was all set to start the latest in a series of abusive jobs.
jobs i take to punish myself.
to kill my spirit and tire my body, this time i was all lined up to work in a quarry.
devolution. fred flintstone stuff, they were gonna pay me 10.73 an hour with .75 cent raises every 3 months after evaluations. maybe i get my own dinosaur after awhile.
the owner of the quarry termed the conditions at the site thusly,
"..it gets pretty brutal up on that platform in the winter when the freezing rain comes in sideways."
perfect.
bring it on, i thought.
then i started thinking how i would never leave the quarry. located in the rolling hills of pennsy with fresh air and low cost livin,
i was gonna be stuck in the sticks for the rest of my life.
if not exactly dying in the quarry, metaphorically doing so.
i passed my physical and my drug screen and i was all set to start.
down to double digits in my pocket, start date monday, i went to rugby practice that thursday to sort of say goodbye and start my metamorphosing into a true rock star.
a man and his conveyor belt of just-mined rock, zenlike and focused on sizes, colors and production based bonuses.
At rugby practice, i asked a prima-donna for a job.
"a guy at the opposite end of the fitness continuum than myself, a home gym guy, a fast guy, a type "a" guy, a sport utility and business owner.
he said no problem and i was pardoned, paroled, saved from a questionable employment decision in the eleventh hour.
so i started on the union job-site, a fresh-faced and world weary 41 years young, willing to learn, ready to go and do some world-class shovel leaning.
i guess they thought i was spy for "the man" for the first week. i'd get alot of questions about why someone with a college degree wanted to make a living with a rake and a shovel. i told them that it was a thousand times better than my previous job as an inner city middle school teacher, but they were unconvinced. i told them that at this job instead of thirty people yelling at me and calling me names for 6 hours, that there was only one asshole to worry about and only a certain amount of abuse he could get away without certain reprisals on my part either physically or thru the legal system.
when they asked my how i liked the job at the end of 8 hours in the sun, i'd say i loved it, that i saw it as a way to go back to school at nite, and save some money. that i could see myself doing this for 5-10 years.
the union rep made the same statement to me every day at some point or another. "so you want to be a union laborer?" incredulous perhaps at the irregularity of my late entry into his business, with no high level union laborer skills at my disposal. thinking i could only slow a pro like him down, he took it upon himself to make my career a short one.
he put me in a hole with a gas powered saw. the task was to cut an eight by eight box thru seven inches of concrete on both sides of a drain box. when the pro did this he had me get a bucket, a bottle and some water so as to cut down the copious dust the machine kicked. silica. worse than asbestos. heavier particles, respirators required by osha i think.
nasty stuff. i was to pour a steady stream of water of the saw blade so he could see and not have to choke on the toxic cloud.
i didn't have a water bitch as i stepped into the hole and pulled my tee shirt over my mouth and fired up the saw. the cut was at toe level in a trench just big enough to turn around in. i pushed the saw into the concrete and up flew the dust, i pressed on and it was all whitefang, blizzardy all of a sudden. white out. im choking, i stop cutting and let the dust clear, gagging. a small incision for my troubles, 4 inches deep at most, i press on.
like shampoo bottle instructions, lather, rinse, repeat, i sawed, gagged/was blinded, stopped. and then repeated.
i figured it was a grand joke they are playing on the new guy. that i was paying my dues.
i had to get it done.
i wasn't going to stop throwing the heavy, sharpened, tool into a place i could not see, beneath my feet, bent over, blinded, gagging and keeping my toes all on my feet only by some sort of divine intervention. the guy that's been doing this for 39 years finally discovered i sucked at sawing an hour or so later and took control of the saw and i hacked away at the other side with a sledge hamer and a steel spike and finally got the holes done. his side was perfect. my side looked like a wall in iraq.
then the pro comes by and starts yelling about how i fucked him. taking two hours to do a fifteen minute job. he musta liked my bedroom skills because he didn't come on over to see what the delay was. he stood in the shade with his foot on the bucket of the bobcat talking shiite about what a crappy saw guy i was. he must have really liked the was i was making love to him, for it to go on and on and on. yeah thats it baby saw dirty for me.
at the end of the day, the pro pulled up next to me and told me that he wasn't going to be able to pick me up at the bus depot the next day. i suppose being in the same truck as a bad sawing guy would have massvie karmic reprecussions for him or something. perhaps it nauseated him. you make me sick, you poor sawing prick, yeah theres a country song in there somewhere, maybe the blues.
the next day i got the silent treatment from this super hero of union labor. i was suddenly back in the kitchen of my shared apartment and SHE wasn't talking to me in anything but grunts and monosyllables. it was the week before she asked me to leave and her life was "shit"
how you doing baby, "my life is shit" oohh k i'd get simmering glances, reproachful stares and that was the extent of our communication. the breakup was coming
i could sense it
when the operating manager of the company came out as he said he would to talk to me and left without doing so i knew that the conversation he had with my superhero friend had sealed my fate. he was gesticulating and pointing to the sewer box where i had him, wildly waving his arms and in a high state of agitation. he sold it well. he did an oj on my back with that knife and oh blah dee oh blah dah. the guy shows up the next day with my check and im out of there, back to normal, looking for a round hole for my blockhead to fit into.
anyway, i lasted two weeks. ive got some financial breathing room and if i can stay away from the track, AC and online gaming i may yet right this sinking ship, the SS Career.
jobs i take to punish myself.
to kill my spirit and tire my body, this time i was all lined up to work in a quarry.
devolution. fred flintstone stuff, they were gonna pay me 10.73 an hour with .75 cent raises every 3 months after evaluations. maybe i get my own dinosaur after awhile.
the owner of the quarry termed the conditions at the site thusly,
"..it gets pretty brutal up on that platform in the winter when the freezing rain comes in sideways."
perfect.
bring it on, i thought.
then i started thinking how i would never leave the quarry. located in the rolling hills of pennsy with fresh air and low cost livin,
i was gonna be stuck in the sticks for the rest of my life.
if not exactly dying in the quarry, metaphorically doing so.
i passed my physical and my drug screen and i was all set to start.
down to double digits in my pocket, start date monday, i went to rugby practice that thursday to sort of say goodbye and start my metamorphosing into a true rock star.
a man and his conveyor belt of just-mined rock, zenlike and focused on sizes, colors and production based bonuses.
At rugby practice, i asked a prima-donna for a job.
"a guy at the opposite end of the fitness continuum than myself, a home gym guy, a fast guy, a type "a" guy, a sport utility and business owner.
he said no problem and i was pardoned, paroled, saved from a questionable employment decision in the eleventh hour.
so i started on the union job-site, a fresh-faced and world weary 41 years young, willing to learn, ready to go and do some world-class shovel leaning.
i guess they thought i was spy for "the man" for the first week. i'd get alot of questions about why someone with a college degree wanted to make a living with a rake and a shovel. i told them that it was a thousand times better than my previous job as an inner city middle school teacher, but they were unconvinced. i told them that at this job instead of thirty people yelling at me and calling me names for 6 hours, that there was only one asshole to worry about and only a certain amount of abuse he could get away without certain reprisals on my part either physically or thru the legal system.
when they asked my how i liked the job at the end of 8 hours in the sun, i'd say i loved it, that i saw it as a way to go back to school at nite, and save some money. that i could see myself doing this for 5-10 years.
the union rep made the same statement to me every day at some point or another. "so you want to be a union laborer?" incredulous perhaps at the irregularity of my late entry into his business, with no high level union laborer skills at my disposal. thinking i could only slow a pro like him down, he took it upon himself to make my career a short one.
he put me in a hole with a gas powered saw. the task was to cut an eight by eight box thru seven inches of concrete on both sides of a drain box. when the pro did this he had me get a bucket, a bottle and some water so as to cut down the copious dust the machine kicked. silica. worse than asbestos. heavier particles, respirators required by osha i think.
nasty stuff. i was to pour a steady stream of water of the saw blade so he could see and not have to choke on the toxic cloud.
i didn't have a water bitch as i stepped into the hole and pulled my tee shirt over my mouth and fired up the saw. the cut was at toe level in a trench just big enough to turn around in. i pushed the saw into the concrete and up flew the dust, i pressed on and it was all whitefang, blizzardy all of a sudden. white out. im choking, i stop cutting and let the dust clear, gagging. a small incision for my troubles, 4 inches deep at most, i press on.
like shampoo bottle instructions, lather, rinse, repeat, i sawed, gagged/was blinded, stopped. and then repeated.
i figured it was a grand joke they are playing on the new guy. that i was paying my dues.
i had to get it done.
i wasn't going to stop throwing the heavy, sharpened, tool into a place i could not see, beneath my feet, bent over, blinded, gagging and keeping my toes all on my feet only by some sort of divine intervention. the guy that's been doing this for 39 years finally discovered i sucked at sawing an hour or so later and took control of the saw and i hacked away at the other side with a sledge hamer and a steel spike and finally got the holes done. his side was perfect. my side looked like a wall in iraq.
then the pro comes by and starts yelling about how i fucked him. taking two hours to do a fifteen minute job. he musta liked my bedroom skills because he didn't come on over to see what the delay was. he stood in the shade with his foot on the bucket of the bobcat talking shiite about what a crappy saw guy i was. he must have really liked the was i was making love to him, for it to go on and on and on. yeah thats it baby saw dirty for me.
at the end of the day, the pro pulled up next to me and told me that he wasn't going to be able to pick me up at the bus depot the next day. i suppose being in the same truck as a bad sawing guy would have massvie karmic reprecussions for him or something. perhaps it nauseated him. you make me sick, you poor sawing prick, yeah theres a country song in there somewhere, maybe the blues.
the next day i got the silent treatment from this super hero of union labor. i was suddenly back in the kitchen of my shared apartment and SHE wasn't talking to me in anything but grunts and monosyllables. it was the week before she asked me to leave and her life was "shit"
how you doing baby, "my life is shit" oohh k i'd get simmering glances, reproachful stares and that was the extent of our communication. the breakup was coming
i could sense it
when the operating manager of the company came out as he said he would to talk to me and left without doing so i knew that the conversation he had with my superhero friend had sealed my fate. he was gesticulating and pointing to the sewer box where i had him, wildly waving his arms and in a high state of agitation. he sold it well. he did an oj on my back with that knife and oh blah dee oh blah dah. the guy shows up the next day with my check and im out of there, back to normal, looking for a round hole for my blockhead to fit into.
anyway, i lasted two weeks. ive got some financial breathing room and if i can stay away from the track, AC and online gaming i may yet right this sinking ship, the SS Career.
posted by bakeowski | 2:31 PM
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