MINDLESS MUSINGS

I think it’s time to revisit that paragon of sobriety and workplace safety I survived all those years ago. Not only did I survive, but I learned to drive a forklift in that madhouse! Talk about a trial by fire! It was akin to having an L plate driver on an obstacle course in the middle of a kangaroo park after a gun went off. They would probably have to be impaired by performance reducing drugs as well to get the true flavour.

Those forklifts were diesel too. I remember my cousin showing me how to fill them up from the barrel with a rotating hand pump; a cigarette hanging from his mouth the whole time.

Today’s episode was yet another result of having a full crew of casual workers. When things got quiet the hours got cut. Monday, Tuesday and Friday were usually on, but the other two could go down to 4 hours or be cut altogether depending on volumes. Only the chosen few got to work Saturday morning and get those nice overtime rates.

It had been a lean few weeks and with the added free time instigating more drinking our wallets were getting rather light. So, when the boss offered us a couple days of random work we took it.

The owner had finally put his hand in his pocket and shelled out for some new pallet racking to replace the battered and bruised old ones. Not all of them of course; we would have to be selective. Kind of like triage in the emergency department; only the really fucked up ones would get seen to first.

Oh, and he wasn’t going to pay trained and experienced people to install them; we were much cheaper. Safety gear? You know the answer to that one.

There must have been about 8 of us. Hungover and/or stoned, fumbling around like we knew what we were doing. I’m sure someone in the group had done this before or at least seen someone doing it.

So here we all are getting hoisted up via forklift and traipsing around on the horizontal beams anywhere from 6ft up to two storeys high. Safety cage? You must be kidding. You don’t even get a pallet buddy; just stand on the tines and shut up.

Hanging on with one hand while you bang away on a beam with the other. The one thing I recall most clearly was my cousin standing on the highest rung way up the top. He had to bend down a little because of the roof. He’s using both hands to hold a hammer drill and pushing it hard into the concrete wall to create a hole for a dynabolt. One foot on each horizontal beam and that’s it; no hands holding onto anything for safety, just balancing and pushing this big fucken drill into the wall. Fuck me!!!

No one was hurt and no one thought anything was out of the ordinary. It was back to business as usual when we next came in. We would often notice a buckled vertical beam here and there and look at each other. Hey, we had to pick the ones most in need. Those rickety bastards might get chosen next time around – maybe in 3 or 4 years perhaps.