Revisiting Labor Ready

I only register for day labor when I absolutely have to, like when I arrive in a new town and need a little cash while I'm job hunting. It's a reliable means of getting some extra cash (though not much) while you're waiting for something better to come along.

Right now, one website has wrapped up and I've been waiting to start two others, but haven't heard anything; so I decided, instead of hanging around the house all day, I should behave like the man of action I am and revisit old reliable Labor Ready.

I went down and applied yesterday, the lady said, "You filled out your application really good, like she was talking to a kid. I showed up early this morning and was hired for an earth moving company which I thought was badass; although in practice, we were actually picking up huge-ass rocks all day which sucked and was hard on the back. But then, I do need exercise.

Today's Labor Ready Report -
I often enjoy the people I meet working day labor. Today, I transported 3 other laborers to the job site (got an extra $2 from each for gas!). Co-worker #1 was kind of nuts, kept talking about how he's gonna make a pipe bomb for 4th of July.

Co-worker #2 was a good enough guy, though his wife is taking a good chunk of his earnings for child support, which would be a shitty situation for him. He just got out of prison, where he did time time for beating a guy up with an aluminum baseball bat because, "I told him to get out of my house, but he didn't go". He was a pretty good guy at heart. I didn't charge him gas money since he was busting his ass as hard as I was, for a lot less pay.

But the day sucked because they gave no breaks (not even lunch) and it was heavy duty work right there in the sun, I thought I was gonna pass out, but didn't. When the foreman told us he isn't giving breaks, you should've heard Co-worker #2! He was furious. I suggested, "You oughta bash his head in with a ball bat," but he didn't.

But we got in 9 hours, and I was paid less than what I get for screwing around a few hours on webpages from the comfort of my own home, and my body was beat.

We apparently did an acceptable job, they invited us back tomorrow, though neither of my co-workers are going. And I don't blame them, it really was back-breaking work, for shit pay. I think I will do at least one more day....it did me good to get out in a different environment, even if it sucked. 

Sunburn hat head.

Oh, and I got a lot of sun! I was wearing my hat low to keep the sweat out of my eyes, so now my face is red while the top of my forehead is pale.

Hauling rocks all day blows....but I will try one more day. Because no one else from my group is going back and I like to tell myself I'm hardcore. And it's a guaranteed 9 hours, other assignments tend to be fewer hours...and at this shitty pay-rate, you want all the hours you can get.

[Originally posted on I'm Nacho Steppinstone, June 30, 2004]

What's Your Favorite Book?

Here's mine:

Naked On Roller Skates.

I confess I've never read this book, I might ILL it. The 17 comments in the original post led to a lively discussion of WorldCat availability in California and the author Maxwell Bodenheim who was a Communist sympathizer and who, along with his wife, was brutally murdered by a crazy friend of theirs. Not the life you would expect for the author of such a light and carefree sounding book.

[Originally posted on I'm Nacho Steppinstone, June 27, 2004]

Back in Town

I just returned from a trip home to Indiana for the sad occasion of attending my uncle's funeral.
Aside from the purpose of the trip, it was great to see the family and farmland again.

A lot of us had an early reunion at Chicago O'Hare Airport as all of our connecting flights were delayed or cancelled. I met my father and cousins Adam and Abby there and we all cancelled our connecting flights and took a bus to Indiana.  It was a riotous journey.

At the end of the trip, as we were all entering the airport to fly to our respective home states, Abby sent a fake can of peanuts with a springing snake it it through baggage check.  We were hoping the TSA guy would open it and get pranked. He laughed and refused to open it though. He said he saw the snake in the scanner.

Once back in Orange County, it took me two hours to get home from the John Wayne airport by bus, but it was totally worth it. The driver for the first segment of my ride should have been on American Idol! He sang really well. There were only three passengers on the bus, it was evening, and the driver was singing beautifully. A bunch of old Temptations songs, and I don't know what all. A bag lady who was riding would occasionally join in and they'd perform a duet. It probably was my most delightful bus ride ever.

Based on the three bus drivers I rode with to get home, I'd say that evening bus drivers are far more pleasant than daytime bus drivers (in Orange County, at least). It is probably the lack of traffic congestion.

[Originally posted on I'm Nacho Steppinstone, June 5, 2004]

Frank Farm

Revisiting the Frank Farm, wishing it was for a happier occasion.

 

Hay Elevator

When we were little kids running around at our cousins' farm, we used to love running up the hay elevator and riding it back down - CRASH! - then running back up the other side again, and crashing down again. It was like a huge see-saw with impact.  When you ran to the top, your weight would make it fall (fast!) to the ground. When we were really little, sometimes the impact would launch us up in the air.

I made a chart to illustrate the dynamic:

 Lots of fun, and I got to do it again last week, joined by Cousin Abby Jo:

It's a lot less dramatic now that we've grown up so much.  We used to be able to fit on the very end. It's still fun though.

[Originally posted on I'm Nacho Steppinstone, June 5, 2004]

On the Frank Farm: Secret Features

One of the old, unused sheds on the Frank Farm is the home of a peculiar masterpiece, a tree that has slowly been growing through a chair over the years, as if time itself has been politely waiting for nature to finish its work.

Secret Feature @ the Frank Farm.