Target Practice

Have you ever met a person that just talks to hear his own voice, can't stand the silence and must fill it with noise. Who thinks he knows everything and then proceeds to share with you the vast knowledge he has and then reiterates it just to let you know over and over again how much he knows. If so, then you have met my new coworker Baz. That's short for Bazza and that's short for Barry. Here in Australia if you have an -ar or -arr in the middle of your name it some how gets shortened to Gazza or Gaz for Gary, Kazza or Kaz for Karren, and the list goes on. It's a very interesting process but it works. But anyway that is taking away from the point of my story. Well spud picking is done in a cart pulled by a tractor on site over the mud clots and dirt mounds and rocks in the potato paddocks. It's a bumpy sort of work and fast moving and I quite like it but it has it's moments. The Gypsy Cart as we like to call it is in very close quarters as it's tented in and you only have enough room to stand on either side of a conveyor belt sorting through the spuds. Well our new loud friend Baz on top of all the incessant talking is a smoker and has no problems smoking and sharing his fumes while working in this tight unventilated area. This annoys me, I'm sorry for all the smokers out there that I know and love, but making people inhale your smoke when they are not smokers is just down right rude and especially in this situation there is no escape and the sneezing starts and the headaches start and it just angers me. I send him death rays with my eyes and curse him in my mind and just fester while working. Well on top of this annoyance for a brief but long hour yesterday he stood next to me while sorting, we could have stood shoulder to shoulder but I didn't allow it making my body as small as possible and shoving myself in the corner getting closer and closer to the beginning of the belt. I then was welcomed by his body odor, slept in clothing funk, topped off with stale smoke breath and body grease smothered cologne which is high rancid. Oh it was disgusting and I wanted to bust out of there. He proceeded to smoke and share his body odor with me and his vast knowledge and all I could do was use my mind to curse the man and wish him to return to his post. Finally after eating the thick smell that exuded from this man he shifted spots and I was able to breath in the much welcomed dirt filled air that smelt oh so fresh in comparison. As a practice I don't usually talk publicly about a person in such a bad way but there is a moral to the story and I feel that I should paint an accurate picture for you to get to whole idea.

I am posted at the base of the belt and Danielle is across from me in the middle of the belt and Baz is at the end directly adjacent from me. The goal is to take the rocks, mud clots, cut spuds, green spuds and rotten spuds from the belt thus leaving the fresh spuds for sale. When a heap of clots or rotten spuds come through its gets crazy and hands are flying trying to rid the belt of unwanted debris. Whatever I miss Danielle tries to get and whatever she misses Baz gets. Well when the belt gets overrun with crap and it whisks back to Baz he goes crazy trying to get the stuff off the belt before it goes into the bin. The faster he works the more crazy and octopus like he gets and the rocks and rotten spuds start travelling closer and closer to me and before you know it I'm target practice. I get pelted up and down my left arm, in the stomach, on my left butt cheek up and down my left leg and one even crossed my body and splatted on my right arm! If ever I get hit in the head I know I'll be out for the count. I just cower in the corner and miss my lot because I'm trying to protect myself and the cycle viciously continues until the end of the row and I can finally safely come out in the open. Man!

So the moral of my story is... if you send death rays with your eyes or secretly curse a man with your mind karma will seek you out in the form of a rotten spud!

Splat!