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AUSTRALIA | Tuesday, 14 April 2009 | Views [968]

Alien headquarters of my new toxic residents

Alien headquarters of my new toxic residents

So I got myself a job as a 'dishy'. Not exactly evolving in the vocational scheme of things. Particularly when it's in a brewery, a place that offers the chance of rapid intellectual devolving. Aside from the universe again providing exactly what I wished for when the plan to come to Broome was first hatched, everything about this new situation is overwhelmingly positive though. If there is a drawback, it is that the dish washing machine decided to go on an extended leave of absence on my second night of work. The resulting expenditure of excess elbow grease helped ingratiate me to the powers that be with my work ethic, so that turned out to have a positive side as well. Even more so when a fresher, more team-orientated machine is installed next week.


You might think that me working in a brewery is a particularly bad choice for both parties. The terrible luck I have brought to all my previous agricultural employers might change industries with me and severely compromise profits. (Or break the dish washing machine!) And I could play a more active role in profit decline by guzzling the free beer like a man on fire. Having such easy access to intoxicants might affect my recently lionised principle of cleaning up my act. My act is destined to stay dirty for awhile longer thanks to my fellow staff members genuine hospitality, inclusiveness and love of beer.


I fulfilled my wish to spend a week acclimatising to the weather, which hasn't really happened yet incidentally, but I'm working too much to notice it any way. I handed out one resume, more for the sport of it, and because my affable room mate said that Matso's was the sort of place that employed “freaks” like me. That is indeed the case, and a week to the day after arriving, I was at work. Drinking cheap, but not free beer, while watching the sunset on the beach will now be an infrequent treat rather than a nightly sozzle session.


To counter the rather detrimental health aspects of working in a brewery, I have acquired a push bike for the dual purpose of health, transport and leisure. That's more like a trio of reasons, but that just shows how good it is here, there are more justifications for things. Target had advertised a mountain bike for $129, but they willingly sold it to me for $103 without me needing to bargain. Perhaps I should have had a go at it, and seen if they could have thrown a more comfortable seat in with the  deal. The bikes rear wheel has suspension, which is useful only for hurtling over Martian like topography at break-neck speeds. Unfortunately hundred dollar price tags don't offer much in the way of quality, and the bike is really only built to handle riding on bubble wrap.


The town of Broome is as flat as a red desert pancake, so riding around should be a relatively straight forward experience. Given that I lacked the required engineering degree to be able to assemble the thing properly, I accept that some of its shortcomings could be my fault. The thirty minute ride to work has me in the transition from unfit to fatigued as fuck, meaning that another week or two and I should be buffed up like one man promo for Nutri-grain. It better yield some positive benefits because my ass is being tenderised and marinated in sweat. Hardly appealing aspects of the part of me most people see when I'm face deep in the dish sink.


Right now though that is the least of my concerns. I have two days off and should probably spend some of my free time at the doctors. The transition of seasons has not yet reduced the temperature enough to kill off all the biting nasties and some critter collective threw a massive party with my blood on tap. It's bad enough I want to itch my legs with a belt sander, but the bastards paid the bar tab with a mildly poisonous currency that has left huge pussy welts on my skin. Everyone at work suggested I make a tourist stop at the hospital but I wasn't in the mood to have an over-worked doctor call me weak so I went home and ate a can of 'harden the fuck up' instead. I'm not a scratcher so I should be fine as long as the wounds remain closed. That is going to be harder than usual as I accidentally rubbed one earlier and it feels like I've grown about 40 clitoris' on my body. Even slight contact sends shivers down my spine and has me kicking my leg like a dog getting it's belly rubbed. And in the right frame of mind, I could easily put such an irritation down to being a positive as well.

Tags: misadventures, work

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