A Little Ditty

Sorry things have been so slow. I'm finishing up the last of my school projects and I am transitioning into a new job today. No more night shifts! Woo Hoo!

After watching this video, I suddenly realize what I should have done with all of the dead time at work between 2 a.m. and 6 a.m.

See more funny videos at CollegeHumor

I Think I'm Getting The Black Lung, Pop II

As you would expect from the descriptions of my coworkers in my last post, I would take any and all opportunities to work alone if given the chance. In most cases, this would mean driving one of these:
I know, I know! Any idea what this machine is called? Me neither! That said, I ran one... and often. The machine had a forklift on one end which would allow me to move pallets of concrete powder from one site to another. Now, this doesn't mean that the machine worked like it was supposed to. Too often, I would have to get off the machine and physically move the rusty forks into position in order to have them glide under the pallet so that I was able to lift it.

Throughout my six months at this job I, like everyone else, was subjected to 2 week shift rotations which meant 2 weeks of days, 2 weeks of afternoons, and 2 weeks of nights. It wreaks havoc on a person's internal clock and personally, I found it unmanageable. That 'unmanageablilty' caught up with me at about 4:00 a.m. on one particular shift, about a month before I quit.

Like I had to do many times before, I got off the machine to move those rusty forks into place. Annoyed, I reefed on them, jamming them into place. I felt a quick 'pinch' but didn't think anything of it. As I was climbing back onto the machine, I noticed that my entire right arm was bright red. "What the hell is this?" I thought. It was only when I looked up to my hand that I realized that my index and middle finger were still hanging onto my hand by way of a few nerves. We're talking hamburger.

I immediately became woozy an sat down to keep myself from passing out only to open my eyes and see my nails lying on the ground. I picked them up, shoved everything into my ice water, and walked toward the nearest underground telephone (they had one drilled into the wall every 100 feet or so for emergencies such as, well, this).

Me: Come and get me.

Randy: What?

Me: I... need... you... to... come... and... GET ME.

Randy: What the fuck for.

Me: Get off your ass and come get me.

I hung up the phone and waited. My body must have immediately gone into shock because I hadn't felt a thing at this point. When Randy got up to the site, he asked what was wrong. With a big smile on my face, I took my hand out of the bloody ice water and waved at him, dangling bits swinging from side to side. Randy started dry heaving as I plunged my hand back into the thermos.

So my journey to the hospital started. 45 minutes in the Jeep to the mine shaft, 15 minutes going up to the top where an ambulance was waiting, and a 45 minute drive into the city to the hospital.

Upon my arrival, the nurse asked me to fill out some paperwork. I believe my response was "And how the fuck am I supposed to do that?" Looks like my coworkers' choice of language had rubbed off on me. In the ambulance on the way over, they did not allow me to keep my hand in the ice water. Remember that part about not feeling anything? Ya, not so much anymore. Once I was full of drugs, they helped me take off my coveralls. It was a god thing I was so high, otherwise I might have been embarrassed by the threadbare, navy briefs with a giant hole in the ass that I had selected that morning because I hadn't done laundry in two weeks.

As I waited for the doctor (hours), I heard murmurs of taking off what was dangling and deadening the nerves with a wire brush. This did not go over well with anyone, even me in my loopy state. I explained that I played piano and this wasn't an option. I didn't want to have any digits looking like this and I was more than willing to wait. A plastic surgeon flew in and started putting back the pieces. I watched the whole thing, right down to him sewing back on the fingernails.

I left the hospital with a bandage that looked like a Mickey Mouse mitt and went home. Probably the hardest thing I had to manage out of the whole ordeal with driving my standard car (it was my right hand that was hurt) and keep the injury above my heart for three weeks so the stitches didn't burst. I don't know how many people I passed on the street who would 'wave back' with a confused look on their face, trying to figure out who I was.

All that said, I've got some 'mostly' normal fingers now. You wouldn't be able to tell that anything happened to them unless you took a good look.

Moral of the story? If you're going to cut off fingers, do it in Canada. The entire experience didn't cost me a dime.

I Think I'm Getting The Black Lung, Pop.

Working in a mine had never crossed my mind. The very thought was laughable. Though I am born of strong farming and mechanic stock, I don’t like to get my hands dirty. I had also spent the first two years of University honing my skills at acquiring the largest tip possible from any table, regardless of it’s makeup: no nonsense with the business men, a quick wink at the gay guys, sitting with my arms around the cougars for photo-ops, and commenting to parents how adorable their ‘spawn of Satan’ offspring were. Why would I turn away from a good thing?

$28.90/hour as an introductory wage for an uneducated student is why I would turn away from a good thing.

A friend of mine had informed me a place called Agrium was hiring. I suppose I should have inquired more as to what exactly I’d be doing but I really didn’t care once I had heard what they were willing to pay students. I immediately began dreaming of dinners that weren’t described as ‘Pops,’ whether they be microwavable pizzas or breakfast cereal. I drove my brown, 1973 Mercury Carpi (clad with Dodge hubcaps) 45 minutes out into the country to the mine site and applied. Less than two weeks later, I was informed that I had been hired. I was elated. After all, I hadn’t started and didn’t know anything about the position.

The company had provided very little information as to what we’d be doing. They said that our job description would depend entirely on what team we were slated with. Regardless, we were to wear cover-alls, steel toed work boots, and required to bring a full jug of ice-water daily to prevent dehydration because the temperature consistently hovered around 65F/18C degrees that far underground. I showed up for my first shift and was informed where and with whom I’d be working. I was part of the team that drilled into underground lakes as to alleviate pressure on the mine shafts; once the water was drained from one lake, we would fill them with a lightweight concrete and move onto the next. OK, I thought. I’m up for the challenge. I was then introduced to my team: Randy, Paul, and Dude (yes, Dude. I still don’t know if he has a real name). I realized early on that despite the fact that I was only in my second year of University, I had eight years more education than any of these men. Most had dropped out of high school and started working for the company in their early teens. They weren’t bitter and jaded AT ALL (note the sarcasm. Made for a lovely introduction and working environment).

On my first day, my team and I, along with all of the other men, walked towards ‘the cage.’ Before we entered the ‘elevator,’ everyone was required to clip the numbered identification tag each of us had been given onto the board that signified who was underground in case of an emergency. Shoulder to shoulder, we pressed in. The metal door slammed and locked, the horn blew, and we started our decent. What exactly was I doing here, I thought. Within seconds, we had entered the darkest place I had ever been. I blinked furiously, trying in vain to catch a glimpse of light. After a few minutes we arrived at the base.

I don’t know what I was expecting to see. In my mind, I had visions of dwarfs with picks in tiny dark tunnels, uncovering massive diamonds. Nothing could have been further away from the reality. The doors opened to a massive underground city. The shafts were at least 30 feet high and what I came to learn is that the grids of roadways spanned 80 miles by 140 miles. My team got into our Jeep and started making the 45 minute drive to our site. I was astonished, not only by these new facts but by the overwhelming smell of sulphur.

So, let’s skip ahead to daily occurrences at the mine: Things I became a part of whether I liked it or not.

1. We didn’t actually work very often: Being so far away from everyone else in the mine meant that we could hear another Jeep driving our way with a 15 minute window to jump up and make it look like we were doing something. Randy, our ‘leader,’ would tell us to ‘Fuck Off, he was TIRED’ every time we suggested that it might be a good idea to drain that underground lake before it collapsed on us.

2. The porn ring: It circulated from site to site. Lucky me. Various copies of ‘Barely 18’ showed up at our coffee break table daily and those interested could take them home until the next day. I was subjected to daily conversations such as this one:

Dude: “Magee (my surname), get over here!!!”

Jess: “I’m OK, Dude. Thanks anyway”

Dude: “No, Magee… seriously!!! You’ve GOT to see this!!!”

Jess: “I’m seriously OK with not seeing it”

Dude: “You’re missing out, man. Not a hair on her biscuit and the tits of a ten year old boy!!!”

Jess: “Neat.”

Disrespecting their wives: For example, it didn’t matter what was sent for lunch. Randy was always unhappy with what was sent. On one particular day, his wife sent chilli and buttered bread. Turns out that the container with the chilli in it fit snugly into the larger container that held both the chilli and the bread. When he looked at what was for lunch, all he saw was the bread. And I quote:

Randy: “A butter sandwich… a BUTTER FUCKIN’ SANDWICH. That bitch is going to get a kick in the cunt when I get home… oh, wait…”

Such was my life for 6 months. It was only until I had a major accident that not only forced me to stop working for this company, but taught me money isn’t everything. Stay tuned…

Horrible Tattoos

I've had THIS LINK on my blog roll for awhile but make sure you check it out once and awhile. Wow... I didn't know they could get this bad.
You'll notice it spans the person's ENTIRE BACK...

Six Sunday Stupids

If you're like me, Sundays are one of those days where I can't bring myself to read blog postings more than 3 lines long and I certainly don't feel like writing one. So, I'm going to try out something new: A new segment called 'Six Sunday Stupids.' Throughout the week I am constantly coming across random bits that either make me cringe, laugh, cry, or throw up in my mouth a little bit. I thought, why not share them with you! So, here it goes. Round one:

1. Ga!! I have only been GO-CARTING once before, but it is the first and last time I will EVER go. Ladies, if you decide to take one for a spin, get a haircut!

2. For those of you that want to take defacing public property to a whole new level, CLICK HERE for some professional help.

3. All I can say is that if you are stupid enough to DO THIS, you had it coming.

4. BACON AND VODKA: Two beautiful things become one.

5. One of my life long fantasies has always been a SPONTANEOUS MUSICAL, where I am in a Staples or a Business Depot and suddenly everyone breaks out into song in perfect harmony. Looks like it's been done but something tells me it could have been done so much better.

6. Saving the best for last: Attention all Drag Queens. You need to take some lessons from this one on how to make an entrance! Check out the following clip at approximately :25 and just after 2:10.

Enjoy your Sunday!

Five Things

I was tagged by SleekPelt. This isn’t the first time I’ve been tagged but it is the first time I’ve actually gone ahead and taken a fellow blogger up on the challenge (*trying not to make eye contact with Amorous Chick*). Truth be told, the only reason I am doing it this time is because I’m working all weekend and it buys me some time to figure out what to post about next. Besides, the challenge is simple: ‘List five things about yourself.’

1) I used to work two miles underground in a potash mine during my sophomore year of University. I decided to sacrifice my rule of ‘no jobs that require me to get my hands dirty’ for a pair of steel-toed work boots, a hard hat, and $28/hour. So ridiculous.

2) I used to enter every possible piano competition available to me. I’ve played since I was three years old and been hired to play and sing professionally… mostly for people that you’ve never head of (gospel singers and such) but if you know who Ashley MacIsaac is, well, that’s about close to fame as I’ve been. Oh, and if you need a pianist at your wedding, go HERE.

3) I will be heading to Turkey, Hungary, Poland, and Germany with my partner this summer. I’ve been to Germany briefly once before but the other three countries will be numbers 29, 30, and 31 that I will be able to cross off my life’s list.

4) While I lived in Taiwan, I was shot in a few commercials: for Lexus, Dentyne, and some Chinese made scooter that I can’t pronounce. Sounds glamorous but it was awful… I would go so far as to say painful… the days were endless, in the middle of nowhere, and the food was terrible. Having said that, it meant between $400 and $600 Canadian dollars per day. I got over it.

5) I grew up in a town of 800 people in North Central Saskatchewan. I had a paper route to make extra money and during the winters, which lasted at least 6 months, I delivered them by way of snowmobile.

Wow. Thanks, Sleek! You've just inspired multiple blog postings! I'm not going to tag anyone with the same challenge, even though I would love to hear from all of you. If you're so inclined, leave me your '5 things' in the comments.

Because I Have To...

I don't think I've ever been political on this blog... but when I hear verbal diarrhea like the speech Oklahoma representative Sally Kern delivered over the weekend, which she defended and refused to apologize for, I feel as if I need to do my part.



If this issue matters to you and you feel compelled to let the old broad know how you feel, here is a list of her contact information:

Capitol Address:
2300 N. Lincoln Blvd. Room 332
Oklahoma City, OK 73105
(405) 557-7348.

District Address:
2713 Sterling Ave.,
Oklahoma City, OK 73127.

Email: sallykern@okhouse.gov or srkern@cox.net

Be careful readers! Turns out that I'm a bigger threat than terrorism or Islam!