It was just another day on a measly paying job that I never liked and with instead of adding to my CV, it diminished my already tarnished rep.
But it's a living, I guess.
It wasn't my idea to take this job. I did it out of this sick, strange sense of loyalty I have. If you ask people about me, "loyal" won't be the first adjective they'll use. Either "naive" or "wanker" will be most probable response you'll get. You'll also might get "closet passive/aggressive idiot with sexual ambiguity issues", but I guess she never got over it.
Rock 'n' Roll. Deal with it. Sean said it. I live it.
Omar looks at his phone and frantically types. You'd think it's his girlfriend who keeps his Chris Martin mug in place, but no, it's his group of friends. I've never met a guy so afraid of his friends.
I'd make a bad joke about him and his male friends, but then one of my exgirlfriends would be right about the passive/aggresive thing. It's a fair cop.
If there's one thing that I hate, it's heat. Add to that humid heat, no music, no food and waiting for two hours to some wonky geezer to open the gates in a one horse town in order for us to get a menial, stupid job done in a telecomm rack and you'd get the picture of why I'm so bitter.
If I were a drink, I'd be Pennyroyal Tea.
Damn, now I'm thinking of Nirvana. I honestly don't think they are the staple 90s group. Heck, they don't speak for me. Alice in Chains speaks for me. Smashing Pumpkins speaks for me. Collective Soul speaks for me. Soundgarden speaks for me. But not Nirvana.
Finally, that useless git in a Ford Fiesta arrives. That stupid car with the fugly, gaudy logo on its side. The bloke says he was in a very important meeting. Wonder what's the lipstick then on the neck, then...
Three hours in and I already feel The Hunger. Not any normal hunger that comes after your stomach has the needle veering between "peckish" and "faint", but the proper, low-sugar energy, out of body experience that comes with The Hunger.
Omar keeps twisting some telephone wires while I screw a rack in place. We lost an hour trying to put the stupid gizmo in the right place, as all the specs that the client gave us were wrong. I wish I could say this is the only occasion it has happened.
Six hours. Some bean counter calls Omar, yells at him. We should've finished 3 hours ago. Omar explains that we were in late because of their company. Bean counter dude doesn't care. He says we are not a good consultancy and if we don't finish on time and "make it up to him", we won't get any more jobs.
I honestly couldn't care less, but Omar's a good pal and I wouldn't want him to lose his job. I don't give two pilchard's tails if I do, though.
We finish an hour before the midnight test is to be carried. Everything is tip top and then the Bean Counter calls again. He wants Omar to talk him through the test. It's a 2 hour drive in a dark highway. He doesn't care. He wants Omar to be there.
Me? I have to stay in this crappy shelter and help the dude from the local office. I don't get it, it wasn't in the contract that we should be here. Why in Jeremy Clarkson's denim jacket does my boss keeps accepting this "special treatments"? My salary is shit and I just feel like a slave.
No, wait, even slave had decent working hours.
Omar and I go for a few tacos and I sit down. I got Siouxsie and the Banshees' "Peek-a-boo!" song in my head. The midnight test starts and I sigh. Even if something goes wrong, I'm not allowed to touch anything, except what Omar and I did.
First sign of trouble and the local arse blames it on me. "Careless installation" he says. The local dudes have a place that looks like a pisshead hurling noodles. Our installation is neat, with plastic binding ties keeping it organised. Everything's tagged.
"Sloppy workers". "They were late". "Never seen someone so lazy".
Hey man, I'm not painted here, ok?
4 hours in and Siouxsie's ditty is still in my head. The local dude finds that the problem wasn't in the shelter nor in the main office, but in the middle point. One of their guys "forgot" he had a graveyard shift and was out partying. Man, why can't I have that job?
The test takes only five minutes. I drag myself to the bus station, get into a smelly coach and travel for 3 and a half hours.
The throb in my forehead tells me I'm way past being angry. But I brush it off with a smile. I'm doing this to help a friend. A quiet smile draws in my face. It's for my friend, I say.
I guess they are right about me.
Plate of shrimp...
I sleep most of the day until 6 pm, when Miller calls me. He's on the Guadalupe Acueduct, burning random stuff he finds on his job. He tells me to bring a six pack and "that bottle of dark rum I left at yers". I wanted to see Chloe today, but her parents have this big arse dinner in Xochimilco. I arrive with only three cans. Miller shrugs and he explains everything to me:
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