Saturday, March 11, 2006

Out of time

It's March and I've burned all my holidays.

Fucking place drives me so nuts so much so often - I had to just get out of there for a while. So I took all my vacation time. Now. At this time of year. Not even the end of Q1 and I'm done.

Here's the thing. I just couldn't fucking stand another second in the place.

We work the continental shift. Which means 3 12 hour days on followed by 3 12 hour nights on followed by three days and three nights. Then they throw this short turnaround at you once a month where you finish up on a Monday morning at 8 AM and your back in 8 AM Wednesday for three more days.

Following that is your only real full weekend off over eight weeks. But by Friday you are so beat the weekend is just a fucking dead loss. You're too tired to drink, even.

And what's so tiring, so debilitating, so fucking annoying about those last three days is not the work - the sucking up of the fire retardants, the leeching of the pigmemts into your blood system, the torture of the ceaseless noise - even hearing protection can't prevent the pounding your soul takes - even in the oasis of the lunchroom the hum of the shitty fridge and the flourescent lights just fucking gets to you and the scraping of chairs bouncing off the concrete walls, yahoos snorting and coughing, microwaves buzzing and beeping - no it's not really any of that.

What really gets to you on that last Friday are the fucking meetings. Management in their infinite fucking wisdom decide that Friday is a good day to hold meetings. Round tables, crew talks. And you sit and listen in awe. Jawdropping fucking awe.

I'm not in the mood for days during thr week. Some dimbulb in khakis coming out on the floor and exposing his ignorance to you by offfering up the solution to a problem that does not even exist. Suggesting you do something that you already do anyway.

And you realise these fuckwits haven't got a fucking clue what the entire enterprise is about, and that they are in charge.

I could become a trained killer easily. Six days of work in seven days, without time to take a shit in your own toilet at home and I'm ready to behead a monkey. Why a monkey? Because that's what everybody is at that point. Fucking monkeys. Saw my own head off.

And the problem with the meetings is not that Dutch Boy gets up and says we need to do more - nah that shit gets you mad, fer sure, but that's not it. What really gets to you is when they say we have to work smarter. Like they'd know or recognise smarter. We need to begin to measure ourselves. We need to learn to set goals.

And meanwhile you are just fucking physically metally emotionally hanging on by a thread. Goals. If I could set fucking goals why would I be working in plastics factory? Why would I be out of holidays before Easter?

And next week is March break. And I'm on nights. And the kids are home. And I'm sleepping all day. And the wife is working. And I much prefer that hell than the hell of three weekdays in the hole.