A Toast to the New Year

This post will admittedly be smashed together with less care than I would like. That being said, I will try to finish before I head off for my New Years Eve plans. 

I never have made New Years resolutions mainly because I thought it was an arbitrary time to suddenly flip a switch and I believe change is a process more than an abrupt reformation. I am making one this year because this arbitrary time comes at a time that I recognize the need for a paradigm shift. It goes without saying but I have learned “heaps” this year as the Aussies would say.  I have, many times fallen on my face while thinking I was gracefully dancing through other people’s lands and lives. With what I’ve learned and continue to learn, I will reshape my path.

Through my experience my awareness has sharpened. I went into my travels very abruptly and very green. Luckily I had a sizeable hunger for adventure and experience and a benevolently open mind. I have however proven that it is possible to have a paradoxically open mind with a steadfast stubbornness.  That is a combination that mitigated my enjoyment of fruits my travel has had to offer.  It lead me to accept but not assimilate. 

It is important to distinguish between the two in this setting. As an American I recognize that we must accept and value other culture as a result of and a sole solution to being part of the biggest melting pot humanity has ever seen. It is virtuous to respect others and allow them their freedom to act and think as they please. However, this also acts justify our isolation from one another. Acceptance and isolation work synergistically to make two typically American qualities.

There is another face to open mindedness; a different level. It goes beyond accepting and into connecting. I have learned through a complete failure in Holland and by example in Bulgaria. There is considerably a lot more of yourself to risk when you break down your walls and/or cross the bridge and/or pick your own analogy and allow yourself to put aside some of own beliefs and ways and adopt those of the people who have adopted you.  I believe that the reward however greatly outweighs the risk.  There a fair amount of trepidation in setting aside parts of yourself to adopt new ways. The fear and the question is that some part of you that you recognize as essential to yourself will die and you will no longer be yourself.  I cannot answer that question. And even though I cannot rationally justify making the effort to adopt these new pieces (probably because I am getting texts the people are already beginning to drink) but inductively, I know it’s right.

I would like to develop this more but now is not the time. To my arbitrarily coincidental paradigm shift: To dive in and soak it in. To broaden this beyond culture to personally. To go beyond accepting differences and into easing the softening of a paradigm that I live in to allow people to invite closeness rather than the cheap acceptance. I am sincere about this but its time for me to go! Happy New Year and God Bless and give love and be free this new year;  it may be our last!

Pruning Steel: Steely Characters

When I came to life and thus my coworkers did the same, I would say it was like someone flipped a light switch. But truly, the change was more gradual. A more accurate analogy would be to say it is like the time between 5 and 5:30 when the sun rises above the building next door to the time that it is eclipsed by the roof of the warehouse and I know my first half hour of work has passed. It is about this point that I begin work mentally and start going about my day. 

A hat, safety glasses and earplugs in a loud warehouse where I spend most of my time with my head down grinding away allowed me to zone out an avoid recognizing the fact that I was working with or at least around other people. That is probably part of the reason I took the job initially and stayed with it. I couldn’t avoid however making contact with the two other guys that worked directly with me cutting off the fresh dipped steel and working it over. Chris, a 57 year-old Australian and a good man, who refuses the gum I offer him “because it will get stuck in his dentures” and illustrates the idiom “dead end job.” 

Chris gave me my 3 minute job tutorial in the beginning and we spoke few other times in the first couple weeks other than to say hello or the occasional “head,” which means move your head before it gets knocked off. He operates the crane at our end of the ware house and is damn good at it too. He also decides which headers we process or get sent to the next crew. However that is where his ambition ends.  For 18 years he’s worked for the same wage at this plant. I don’t think I would make it 18 weeks if I didn’t have to. He accepts that he will be here until he retires. He is not much of a communicator which makes it often very frustrating to work with him. As the weeks wore on I learned I would have to accept this. If I was looking for a great steel galvanizing quarterback I would have to look elsewhere. I stopped gritting my teeth around him after we finally got into a conversation about him stemming from wages. I learned that he and his wife are foster parents to several kids at a time. He grinds away to help his wife aid in the young lives of kids who have little else. After that it was easier to accept when he would return short flippant answers to my questions of ignore them. His redemption is impressive but almost common place in this warehouse.

The other guy in our section is named James and although he is Philippino, has a Spanish surname. It couldn’t be any more appropriate for him; a biblical name that carries with it those who brought the bible to the Philippines.  He gets mad when I swear.  He gets mad when I wear my Dragon shirt (pictured) or my El Paso Diablos shirt. (I get mad too though. These were the last jerkoffs to release me. But here I am.) The dragon of course symbolizes the devil and well, Diablos, you get it. He gets mad when I use his grinder, but that is slightly more forgivable in his eyes. 

He is righteous to the core; the only man I’ve ever seen bow his head before eating his lunch in the breakroom. He lives by the Word in sincerity and does his best to softly preach it.  The language is a slight barrier but I try to stay with him. His attitude toward the work is akin to sacrifice. In this case he sacrifices himself most of all for his family. He grinds away to see that his wife is cared for and his daughters continue their education in a safe and opportunity laden place. He never questions the work, or the time and energy that he surrenders. He, like the other Philippinos that make up the majority of the plant’s workforce is on a four year contract sponsored by the company to live and work in Australia. To give you an idea about how lame this job is. This plant would not run if it weren’t for this soft form of indentured servitude.

I have tremendous respect for these men. Nearly everyone is here in an effort to bring their family here or support them abroad. The job atrophies the mind, weakens the body and redeems the soul. I want to launch into political argument about immigration but I will keep it at this. This is one job among many others that affluent Australians and for that matter Americans will not do given the choice. In fact, some would choose to sit on the couch and receive a dole/welfare instead of doing this work  So many of us want to mitigate or deny immigration when the reality is the people are just humans, opportunistic and righteous, sacrificing nearly everything in hopes of a better life for themselves and the ones they love. 

The two other young blokes besides me will have to wait for their introduction and this post will wait for its conclusion as I have to finish the next post before I head out for NEW YEARS EVE!

For another take on the immigration issues. Enjoy a good read out of the Atlantic:

http://www.theatlantic.com/business/archive/2011/12/the-no-brainer-issue-of-the-year-let-high-skill-immigrants-stay/250219/

Pruning Steel: White Yard

If I were at home right now I would be pruning my parents’, friends’ and neighbors’ apple trees.  This is the one month every year that my forearms become freakishly strong from clipping each tree branch. It’s cold and monotonous but I can’t imagine a more serene work environment. Isolated up on ladder in a tree, engulfed by soft cadence of rain falling on the bill of my hat or the silence of yard muted by fallen snow, I take my time to size up and select what branches are meant to be kept and which are meant to be removed. It is both an exercise in logic and parsimony and an art of creating functional balance. Inevitably my mind becomes as quiet as the day and ultimately I leave behind trees that will bear the most and best possible fruit that they can produce.  The job of a fettler is a lot like that, in that my forearms became very strong. Forget about the other stuff.

Quiet end of the day.

For the first two weeks of the job (Yes I am going to continue winging, skip this paragraph if you want to get to the redeeming part.) The job was reminiscent of the point when you become numb to the pain of having a cavity drilled, not because of the Novocain but because you just give in and accept it. I kept at it because I knew it was only temporary. If all my work-while financial forecasts were correct, I would make enough money to walk out the door at 11 o’clock, Friday the 23^rd of December and leave that misery behind. My vision of that hot late morning was one where I walk out, carefree to a car that I paid off with the satisfaction of having a credit card paid off and money in the bank which to me really meant time that could be taken to have fun!

(Ra Ra! Part) The job is not all bad though. It does have a Mister Rogers/ How Things Work beauty to it. In the beginning it was an interesting education experience on how steel is galvanized. That lasted for a day and a half. There is the slightest sense of satisfaction that I have had a small part in making somebody’s gaudy gates really appealing or some piece of mining equipment that much more durable. Sometimes the headers carrying the shiny metal resemble a mobile that even Alexander Calder would be appreciate. But most of the time it’s just beams.  There is also some excitement when the steel is dipped into the molten zinc when it burst and bubbles and makes light poles turn into acoustic cannons or boiling hot water guns. That always good for a shot of adrenaline when I forgot my coffee in the morning. Aside from all this, I’ve said it before and I am going to say it again, right now:  IT PAYS!

The first two weeks I had to rent a car to get to work because it is a 25 minute drive from my house. But, you gotta spend money to make money. By the end of the third week, while spending every spare minute car searching, I finally gave up the chase and settled for a shit bucket with wheels. (Hopefully, I will get a post up about driving it.) A couple weeks later, I sent enough money state side to pay off the old credit pit. After weeks of austerity measures that would solve Greece’s debt disaster, I night I celebrated with a meal at Hungry Jacks (Burger King) and a six pack of delicious Little Creatures (Sierra Nevada.)

My new ride with a Christmas gift from the old boss man. Notice my sweet tow hitch!

At work the next day, I discovered a level of elation that a sleep deprived hangover could not dim. I was seeing the world through rosy colored glasses. Well they were still my same safety glasses but it was like they were really REALLY clean. I started to feel like a human and the guys around me became humans as well. This is going to seem like those stupid plots when the resolution comes far too simply and the satisfaction has no foundation. But I have to head out to our optional Christmas break practice. There is more to this satisfaction because the releasing of this burden has sparked every aspect of my life here.

The boys I grind with. Temps don't get the sweet high vis gear.

On deck is the post called “All Fun and Games.” I am looking forward to writing that one because I a getting tired of dwelling on the negative. With a couple more days off I would also like to get out a couple more about driving, baseball, and well, so many things that are more fun than work.

Pruning Steel: Black Yard

Steel galvanization is the process coating steel with a layer of zinc to protect it from the elements essentially making the steel rustproof.  At the steel galvanizing plant where I work the steel is delivered into what is called the “black yard.” Out there lies the unfinished fabricated and welded steel in an ugly oily black or rusting state. From there is tied up to headers by steel wire which a gantry crane will pick up and dip into a series of chemical and acid baths in order to clean it before dipping it in a kettle of 200 degree Celsius molten zinc . Finally the header is dipped into a cooling bath of water and that’s where I come in. When I’m done with it I send it away, shiny and finished on a forklift to what is called the “white yard."

Another day.

Mostly Unedited since Thursday the 8th:

Everybody has had a job that they hate, that they consider turning their car around from in the morning, that they leave tired, achy and unhappy, that they lose sleep over, that they do in their sleep, that is risky, that is boring, that is a dead end, that will potentially give them cancer or kill them sooner, … Well, maybe most of those. This is the account of mine:

Rarely does calling somebody a “bitch” pay off especially if that somebody is your superior at work. Maybe it was the fatigue of a 40 hour work week by Thursday or maybe it was that fact that I couldn’t care less if I left the job forever so I called the head crane operator a bitch on his way out the door on Thursday afternoon.

He left with a chuckle. The Philippinos all turned and looked at me astonished. I punched my punch card and headed out the door and tried to walk as I imagined Cool Hand Luke would have done.

I shouldn’t say that it actually paid off. It just made this job slightly less intolerable. I am a fettler. For the last three weeks between the hours of 5 and 4 and 5 and noon on Saturdays, I am the tired bloke who cuts the freshly zinc-dipped steel off of the header, grinds off any irregularities, and stacks it for the forklift to take it to the pickup yard. If the job doesn’t sound exciting, that’s because it’s not. The only thing that keeps me going is Coca Cola, chewing gum and the mental math that I am doing while I am avoid getting hit by cranes, forklifts, shards of steel, molten zinc, or boiling water and steam. The job pays very well for doing something a well trained chimp could do. And considering my current economic state that I alluded to in my last post, I decided it was time to bite the bullet and pay my dues.

One day I came to work and noticed a glove had hung himself near steel recycling bin. Apparently he didn't like this job much either.

Paying my dues is what I did and it was how I treated my job. I rarely spoke at work. I put my earplugs put my head down and went about my business and counted the hours until the end of the day. When I spoke it was usually a question about the job or the standard acquainting conversation. 

The next morning as I went to get my earplugs and a fresh pair of gloves he greeted me with “How’s it going Pussy?” Trying to overlook my surprise, I replied, “Good, Pussy.” The rest of that day he made jokes about pussy this and pussy that. Without intention, I had completely nailed establishing a rapport. Seeking the lowest common denominator, we had leveled ourselves despite his years of service in this environment and my steadfast respect for experience engrained in my by years of baseball.  From that day on, little by little, I acted as if I was actually present instead of as far as I could possibly get inside my head.

Tomorrow I will get the second half of this post up and this week I will play some more catchup. 

Not All Fun and Games/ Having a Winge

I haven’t updated anything in the last month for a few of reasons and I am glad I haven’t. It wouldn’t have been that much fun to read and surely wouldn’t have been fun to write and secondly, for much of that period I didn’t have a minute to spare. Now that I have sorted out my life and I am comfortably enjoying a relaxing, mildly hungover and surprisingly cool Boxing Day, I can put together the starts that I have begun in my journal and on my computer. Here are a few thing that I will hopefully catch up on in my week off between Christmas and New Years: Comestibles, the Queen, riding the train, Perth, baseball, the Footie grand final, burgers, Pinnacles, USA series, Americans, Baseball, meat pies and sausage rolls, kangaroos, Australians, Freemantle, Little Creatures, the view from the HSBC building, the weathers, the river, girls, girls, girls, Perth, Foo Fighters, the house, driving and my car, Cricket, the beach, and Steel.

Having a Winge

Have you ever wondered if you could be plopped down in a foreign place with no support net and see if you could make it? No? I recognize that I am one of few. Rooted in an affinity for stories like Into the Wild and Castaway and a twisted hunger for adventure and to challenge and prove my self-reliance, I have cultivated this question. It’s a fun hypothetical situation to chew on but it’s not one I had ever planned on testing. But be careful what you wish for or daydream about; you just might get it. I didn’t play out this scenario exactly, not even close, but I was close enough for me to get a taste and form an idea about how I would fare.

When I arrived in Perth I had $46 to my name. That buys nothing here. The club offered me a place to stay for three weeks but little else.  I picked up the bartending job and it was fun and worked out fine until it became impossible to work until three, catch a cab home and then perform well at a mid morning baseball game the following day. At the same time as quitting the bartending job I had to find a new place to live. Without a car, I train and bussed to my casual catering job that just paying my rent and everything else going on credit. After all the prior traveling this year my credit debt was starting to add up. I needed a steady, good paying job and fast.

I pounded the pavement. I put in with several labor, well actually or labour, agencies and applied for anything and everything. I worked one day unpacking containers full of soft drinks and loading them onto pallets and I worked one week in a beer and wine distribution warehouse. This worked brought me slightly into the black but it wasn’t quite cutting it. At the end that week I got a call from one labor agency who said that had a job in a steel galvanizing factory. It would only pay $19.75 an hour (a very modest wage here) but the ninth hour would pay time and a half and after the ninth hour and weekends would pay double time. I had my doubts but after considering the reality of the situation it was time to grind.

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Having in a winge or winging are terms that I have happily adopted here that are equivalent to complaining and whining with the negative tone of “bitching” without the use of harsh language. This post has been substantially edited from the time that I began it in the middle of the hardest period here while, due to my economic circumstances, I was in a pretty bad mood.