CBT
09-17-2009, 07:13 PM
12 hour workdays, that is. Contrary to popular believe and text messages and e-mails I got, I have not been away for any of the following reasons:
1.) I destroyed my car. (still trying)
2.) I destroyed myself. (ditto)
3.) I was in jail. (turns out she WAS 18, in your face!)
4.) Me and Snoop been on a sticky-icky binge. (it was just me)
5.) I was building a 7 second Marauder.
Reasons I may have returned for:
1.) I heard there may be another run of Marauder mouse pads.
2.) I miss the intellechual...inteleku...I miss the slams.
3.) I heard j-bob, k-nine, and p-hrog missed me.
4.) I like big butts and I cannot lie.
5.) Me and Snoop are done with our sticky-icky binge. (i'm not done!)
Truth is I have been working 10 to 12 hour days, 7 days a week, and going to college full time at night. One class is Religion, New Testament, so if I break biblical on that azz please forgive me, like Jesus said you should. My company loaned me out to help with weld inspections on the USS Truxton. I don't know what they are paying my company to borrow me, but I know what I'm making. Aaaaaaaaalot. I have a "scribe" assigned to supposedly help me. From casual observation I have determined these are people who show up at the gates to the shipyard each day asking if they need anything done. What is supposed to happen is something like this. I jam all 6 feet 2 inches, 194 pounds of me into a tiny spot (calm down, Phrog. Not that spot.) like say under your kitchen cabinet. Upside down. Cause that's the only way to fit around everything else that's in the way. Then, I call out measurements to my "scribe" who is supposed to convert 64th's into decimal equivelants and tell me if that particular sized pipe with that particular wall thickness has enough weld on it. These people can't spell math much less DO math. I honestly think if you gave them a multiple choice question and asked them which one of the following is a 64th of an inch, and TWO of the 3 choices were a 64th of an inch, they would pick Donkey. And this shipyard I'm at should qualify as a combat zone. When the lady at passs and ID gave me my swipe card I held out my hand again. She said "That's it." I said "Where's the switchblade?" She said "What switchblade?" "I said the one we get issued to work here, if I'm going to get shanked I want fighting chance." A colorful and unpleasant exchange followed, I remember asking if the 'Scared Straight' program would be filming there today. Maaaaan, that converstaion did not go over too well. Until I told her what company I work for, booyaaaa!! Holy crap, I'm surprised Kanye hasn't interrupted my typing yet. Butt seriously... So my first scribe, who we shall refer to as Nay Nay, because that's what she said her name was, fell out from heat exhaustion the other day. Which I'm still stumped about, all she had to do was write numbers on a spread sheet, but whatever. I'm the one sweating out half my body weight each day playing contortionist; the air is off, the water is off, the only thing working on this ship is the lights. So imagine working in a big steel box that is sitting on blocks of wood just cooking in the sun. I do not feel sorry for her. After she left in an ambulance, I felt a wee bit sorry for her, but she is BACK. She is a firewatch now!!! I feel sorry for the welder. Now the other guys rag me each day with stuff like "Hey Case, try not to kill your scribe today." and "Put a notch on your clipboard for Nay Nay yet?"
So after working all day in 'Super Max' shipyard, I get to go sit in class at night, and try to block out the pain. Each day I leave there I feel like I've been *****. In the face. But then I do the overtime math and I get the bonerz, which gives me mixed emotions in Religion class. But not in Philosophy, because there are no wrong answers:
"What is the meaning of life, Casey?"
"Bend over, I'll show ya."
"Correct!"
Case-dog, out.
1.) I destroyed my car. (still trying)
2.) I destroyed myself. (ditto)
3.) I was in jail. (turns out she WAS 18, in your face!)
4.) Me and Snoop been on a sticky-icky binge. (it was just me)
5.) I was building a 7 second Marauder.
Reasons I may have returned for:
1.) I heard there may be another run of Marauder mouse pads.
2.) I miss the intellechual...inteleku...I miss the slams.
3.) I heard j-bob, k-nine, and p-hrog missed me.
4.) I like big butts and I cannot lie.
5.) Me and Snoop are done with our sticky-icky binge. (i'm not done!)
Truth is I have been working 10 to 12 hour days, 7 days a week, and going to college full time at night. One class is Religion, New Testament, so if I break biblical on that azz please forgive me, like Jesus said you should. My company loaned me out to help with weld inspections on the USS Truxton. I don't know what they are paying my company to borrow me, but I know what I'm making. Aaaaaaaaalot. I have a "scribe" assigned to supposedly help me. From casual observation I have determined these are people who show up at the gates to the shipyard each day asking if they need anything done. What is supposed to happen is something like this. I jam all 6 feet 2 inches, 194 pounds of me into a tiny spot (calm down, Phrog. Not that spot.) like say under your kitchen cabinet. Upside down. Cause that's the only way to fit around everything else that's in the way. Then, I call out measurements to my "scribe" who is supposed to convert 64th's into decimal equivelants and tell me if that particular sized pipe with that particular wall thickness has enough weld on it. These people can't spell math much less DO math. I honestly think if you gave them a multiple choice question and asked them which one of the following is a 64th of an inch, and TWO of the 3 choices were a 64th of an inch, they would pick Donkey. And this shipyard I'm at should qualify as a combat zone. When the lady at passs and ID gave me my swipe card I held out my hand again. She said "That's it." I said "Where's the switchblade?" She said "What switchblade?" "I said the one we get issued to work here, if I'm going to get shanked I want fighting chance." A colorful and unpleasant exchange followed, I remember asking if the 'Scared Straight' program would be filming there today. Maaaaan, that converstaion did not go over too well. Until I told her what company I work for, booyaaaa!! Holy crap, I'm surprised Kanye hasn't interrupted my typing yet. Butt seriously... So my first scribe, who we shall refer to as Nay Nay, because that's what she said her name was, fell out from heat exhaustion the other day. Which I'm still stumped about, all she had to do was write numbers on a spread sheet, but whatever. I'm the one sweating out half my body weight each day playing contortionist; the air is off, the water is off, the only thing working on this ship is the lights. So imagine working in a big steel box that is sitting on blocks of wood just cooking in the sun. I do not feel sorry for her. After she left in an ambulance, I felt a wee bit sorry for her, but she is BACK. She is a firewatch now!!! I feel sorry for the welder. Now the other guys rag me each day with stuff like "Hey Case, try not to kill your scribe today." and "Put a notch on your clipboard for Nay Nay yet?"
So after working all day in 'Super Max' shipyard, I get to go sit in class at night, and try to block out the pain. Each day I leave there I feel like I've been *****. In the face. But then I do the overtime math and I get the bonerz, which gives me mixed emotions in Religion class. But not in Philosophy, because there are no wrong answers:
"What is the meaning of life, Casey?"
"Bend over, I'll show ya."
"Correct!"
Case-dog, out.