Six hours. It takes nearly six hours to get home from Fort McMurray, I dont even know why I bother, oh wait I do, its to pay respect to the power of the almighty dollar. Son of a bitch am I ever a sucker. Anyways, I just finished my first week of work in three months after finishing yet another year of insulating school and the feeling is similar to being cold cocked with a sucker punch and dumped in a bathtub full of ice. Immediately those old familar "this place sucks" emotions came flooding into my brain even though I was sure I've been up here enough times to become fairly jaded to the whole experience. No sir, McMurray still operates at the same level of suckitude now as it did four months ago.
After work, I usually find myself settling into a routine. I'd come to my room inside of a trailer that was built in the 60s (complete with the requisite yellow stains) and pull my pants off. Then I air out the snuffleapagus while retro-ing out with my cassette walkman and enjoying a cup of coffee followed by one of hot chocolate. This is a very important ritual, as it enables me to suffer through yet another day of pain that the Marquis De Sade himself would be proud of undergoing. Maybe I'm embellishing a little too much about the torture that goes on up there, but its definetely not a cakewalk. I mean damn, it was raining for two days, my monogoggles kept fogging up and I didn't even have a lunchroom to eat in ('tis full). So I spent my breaks outside, enjoying the added fiber that blowing dust contributes to my turkey sandwich and I'm a million miles from home to boot. The small comforts that the experience affords me would have to consist of a fat paycheque, seeing some of the people I used to work with (yay for fat indian broads) and the previously mentioned removing of pants.
I had also been fortunate to be amused while brushing my teeth one evening in the *public* bathroom. Some dude was taking a dump four stalls away and made these awesome guttural sounds that made me smile. Thankfully the odour didn't make its way over to me, but after the dude flushed the can I noticed some fourty year old guy coming out with a sheepish look on his face. Now I can read guilty expressions and combine this with my dirty mind it was easy to figure out that he wasn't actually taking a shit. So the guy notices me peering at him through the corner of my eye and says "uh oh good morning.. I mean evening.. heh heh heh" he was definetely nervous and embarassed about milking the meat stick, but rather than just grunting affably in his direction, I thought I'd engage in the conversation that he tried iniatating.
Some small talk commenced and then the guy reveals that he was working there for three years as an electrician. After I've gotten over my shock, he then expressed admiration for the insulating trade and how we create "works of art" instead of being subjected to the boring electrical work he does. I shake my head sadly upon hearing that someone shows approval towards insulating, I then made a comment about how electrical work is better since all they really do is "pull their wires" all day. Although my observation was correct (there's usually six+ electricians pulling wire from a cable spool), I think my new friend took it as a double-entredre as an allusion to his wanking in the stall, so he turned red, uttered a good night and quickly exited.
Yeah thats the highlight of my week, sad isn't it? Another thing that pisses me off is that they don't have tuna salad sandwiches anymore. Why? Because they were afraid "decaying mayonaise" has "toxic" effects, regardless that these sandwiches are made fresh daily.
Two days off and back I go.
