The Unsung Cry of Hard Labor
Published May 16, 2008
Direction from Adam ranges from a variety of unintelligible hand-signals (read: his version of sign language) to a step-by-step breakdown of what it is again I'm supposed to do. As we are picking up 5,000 lb railroad ties and carrying them 30 feet without stopping because Adam is a million times stronger than me, I realize I'm beginning to comprehend the concept of hard labor. I'm crying on the inside. I've carried four railroad ties without begging for a break, but come on! I get home to dad that night and all I say is, "I know how the fucking Chinese felt after building those railroads."
I'm excited about getting in shape. The other dreadful-yet-exciting thing about this job, which also qualifies in my book as "hard labor," is Adam's method of testing one's skills. He starts off simple: Drive the dump truck. Back up the dump truck. A quick series of hand signals in the mirror as I'm backing up, as well as some verbal clarification, and I was feeling like a pro. Next came a crash course on how to attach a trailer to a truck, and load and strap a bobcat onto the trailer. Two days later, I am instructed to pretend he is not there. Back up the truck. Attach the trailer. Prep the bobcat to load. Stop, close your test booklet. After he approves it, you will then load the bobcat onto the trailer and strap it down for the road.
Every test you study for, right? It's always the wrong questions. Like complaining about the joystick. Getting in and out of a truck, thinking he's timing me, aiming that ball for that trailer, can set previously unused muscles off in your mind. That's especially true when you walk over to Adam and report an issue and he tells you he doesn't know because he's not here. You tend to learn quickly. Maybe there is some hope with the youth of the world!
Since that first day, I have managed to become more acclimated to the work. The second week, we had to dig a large trench alongside an underground gas line. This meant two things: We had to dig it by hand and it was the majority of the dig. That night, I woke up at 1am with diarrhea and, at 3am, I woke up puking. I blame it more on the suspiciously undercooked hamburger I ate for lunch over ditch digging under the sun all day. I called in sick the next day. Turns out Victor was sick the previous day with the same thing.
- The Unsung Cry of Hard Labor
- Published: May 16, 2008
- Type: Opinion
- Section: Culture
- Writer: Josh Evans
- Josh Evans's BC Writer page
- Josh Evans's personal site
- Spread the Word
- Like this article?
- Email this
Save to del.icio.us
Comments on this articleComments
Good writeup, Josh. I spent a few post high-school years bouncing from hard-labor job to assembly lines to forklift driving, gas station attendant (back when they had those), house construction, roofer, an so on, always taking orders from relatively unfriendly people who wanted me to work faster.
Looking back, I'm glad I had those experiences. About half-way through my menial labor career, I gave myself an attitude adjustment, and started working to the very best of my ability, you know, instead of doing the bare minimum just to get through the day. I started to get noticed and complimented by the higher-ups (a raise would have been out of the question, because of union restrictions). That did wonders for my sense of worth.
There was something satisfying about it: there were a lot of on-the-job buddies to BS with, at the end of the day, you can forget the job and blow off some steam, there's plenty of intellectual energy left over to pursue other interests, and I was in top shape and looking good. The only real downside is the low pay. It's usually just enough to make ends meet. No expensive European vacations, etc.
Eventually, I found something I wanted to do, and I went back to school (for a long time). Now I make in a month what I used to make in a year, I have my own office with a tinted window view of trees and grass, air conditioning, secretaries, benefits, free travel, and so forth. I've gone soft compared to the old days. My work is intellecually consuming, and it is ever-present in my head. I'm still tired at the end of the day because thinking sucks up energy every bit as efficiently as lifting boxes. I have deadlines, progress reports, presentations, meetings, and serious competition.
I love it.
But I still value what I had when life was simpler. It's trading one thing for another. The choice is not always obvious. I would rather nail boards together than sit in a cubicle and fill out forms eight hours a day. Choose wisely.
thanks for the comments, joanne. I will hope for the same so long as he always remains in touch with the more primal urges to dig, destroy and build.
duane,
i did hold down an office job for five years, hopefully i failed to mention this in my missive. Because this means I left out a vital point I was hoping to make.
Even if i did, well, during those five years I couldn't believe I made from 26k a year to eventually 52k a year for sitting in front of a computer all day. I felt guilty in a way. Somewhere someone is busting their ass for $9 an hour or less while i was exploring every corner of the internet i could get away with without Websense blocking me.
It feels pretty good to actually get out there and dig a ditch. Despite the pain. My dad might actually get some quality yard work out of me this summer.
I've got a whole other story to tell about the various heavy equipment i have to use and their luscious perks.
Add your comment, speak your mind
(Or ping: http://blogcritics.org/mt/tb/76766)
Oh, my. I hope the overpriced degree my son is getting next year will get him a non-laborious position. I don't think the little weed could shovel gravel. My hat's off to you.