My Blue Collar Day

After a my long unemployed diaspora, today marks my triumphant return to the land of the employed. Not only have I returned, but I've returned with a vengeance. I've returned blue collar style. I even get to wear a hard hat - very stylish in yellow, I've made it a point to accessorize appropriately tomorrow. Sure, it's just a temp gig which will only last a couple of weeks, but for me it feels like a momentous step. I mean, I haven't missed 'Saved By The Bell' at noon in months. Of course when I applied at the temp agency, I wasn't expecting hard labor. I didn't expect to go to a factory. I didn't expect the temp agency's call to begin with "Do you have steel toed boots?" This is, however, how it went down. I was hoping for some cushy clerical thing, but I'm not exactly in the position to argue with anything that pays.

So, this morning I awoke at 5:30 - in the morning mind you - so that I could beat my mother to the bathroom and make it to Shippensville at 7. For those familiar with western PA, that's near Clarion, a good half an hour from my house. For those not familiar with western PA, buy a map. I drove to the former easily pronunciated Temple-Inland Fiber Board factory, where I would be helping set it up for its new owner. The factory - now called the much harder to pronunciate Aconagua Fiber Board Factory - has been closed for some time, I take it. It seems that a South American billionaire has bought the factory and wants to use it as a front for drug trafficking. Of course, no one said this, but I'm not an idiot. When someone says South American billionaire, what they really mean is drug lord. I'm not saying the guy is a drug lord. But come on. A South American billionaire!? I think we all know how this works.

So, after watching a very dull safety video, I and the other four - out of eleven - temps who showed up got divided up and sent to work. I was assigned to a guy named Jim, and we - just the two of us - were sent to work in the 'bag houses'. The name alone isn't foreboding, but when people are making comments around you like "They're sending just two guys for that job?" and "Hey Jim, do you really think that platform is safe?", you begin to worry a little. As it turns out, the bag houses refer to a group of air filters which are roughly four floors above the factory floor. First, we had to put the filters together, which involves forcing a long, slim wire cage into a think fabric sleeve. It was kind of like putting huge condoms on brobdingnagian metal penises. It wasn't as much fun as it sounded. Once, the cages were 'bagged' they were slipped into a slot - very sexual - at the top of a one of three silos. This doesn't sound like much I know, but just to give you an idea as to what this was like, there are almost 1,100 slots in the silos. Of course, I noted that the bag houses would be a wonderful place to hide kilo upon kilo of pure uncut heroin.

After several breaks - Jim was big on the breaks, he must be union - I was moved to a building to which I don't know the name. All I know was that I had to climb through a hatch like that on a submarine and got to work with this wonderful fiber glass insulation which made me cough - despite wearing a mask - and has left really sexy red splotches up and down my arms. Eventually, I found out that I was in a furnace. Of course a furnace is great for making things and people disappear - say, for instance, federal evidence or an accountant who's beginning to ask too many questions. Also, when not turned on, the furnace would make a wonderful place to hide kilo upon kilo of pure uncut heroin.

There's more to tell you. For instance, I have not even mention the man who claimed to have died, but insist that "they brought me back." I guess he's like the six million dollar man, only they couldn't make him better. At least, they couldn't get him a cushy government job. I'd like to tell you even more about this man and all the rest of my crazy encounters, but I happen to be quite tired and sore from my day of actual labor. I think I need to just sit on the couch and chill. Plus, I'm meeting with the FBI later. They want to fit me with a wire.

Shalom