Life as a Gemini - The Struggle is Real

I'm not sure what this blog is about.

Mostly, it will be a rant about how much I hate people, but then I will say how excited I was to watch a friend's daughter singing on stage and following her dreams of performing. I will talk about how close it was for me to be in jail right now for assault and go on to say how fun it is to ride a city bus. I can describe all the healthy, vegan foods I've tried recently. However, I currently want to puke because I ate Mexican street corn, a jumbo corn dog, deep fried cheese curds with maple bacon gravy, Coke and a deep-fried, bacon-wrapped Twinkie.

So many things have happened lately, but I kind of just want to focus on the last 48 hours, more or less. First of all, I am living in a 15 by 20 foot box in London, Ontario, in an area of questionable repute. I know I said I'd focus on the last 48, but just to give you an idea of my neighbourhood - I can get serviced at the local Tim Horton's for (I'm guessing) around $45 and I have had to step over or around people who are self-medicating for mental issues that I'm lucky enough to have under control (at this time) without the use of a needle. I never hear gunshots, at least. Knives are the weapon of choice here as I understand it. As soon as I hear gunshots, I'm out. I'm fairly confident in my ninja skills when it comes to running away from a knife-wielding, weirdo. Not as sure of my Superman, bullet-dodging abilities.

Here I am, a County girl in the city, trying to get back to the person I used to be; or the woman I wanna be... maybe just to feel comfortable with the female I am. First of all, I really want to like people. I envision myself having coffee dates where I discuss opinions (eg. where to get the best breakfast), current events (eg. the local Abused Women's Centre's refusal to be associated with a pole dancing demonstration) and make up new words or phrases (like "mansplaining" and "Listen here, Lady") with other eclectic, and open-minded individuals wearing Craft Brewery logos and deck shoes with brightly coloured socks. I want to touch people's faces when I greet them. Kiss them on both sides of their cheeks like my Quebecois friends! I want to rub their heads and laugh and joke about it. Rub their backs while they cry over lost loves and dead pets.

But y'all motherfuckers are so hard to like sometimes! Fuck. And, quite frankly, your hands are gross. Don't touch me.

Ergo, I spend most of my time in my little apartment learning new languages with Memrise.com. Check it out if you have not! I'm into Turkish and French right now. Feeling pretty confident that I can describe my needs in France: "J'ai trop aime les gateaux et le chocolat"; and order a drink in Turkey: "Efes, lutfen. Yarasin!"

Today, I decided I would tempt the fates and try to enjoy the beautiful fall day with a bus ride downtown and a pedicure. Side note: I love getting a pedicure at Diva Nails on Adelaide! It is relaxing to listen to employees chatter away in whatever language they are speaking. I don't have to speak to anyone unless I want to. They make my feet look and feel great while I enjoy a massage chair (massage without human contact = genius!) for about twenty bucks.

I proceeded to wait for the #20 - the bus that stops in front of my place and goes west to downtown. Now, the last time I took this bus, I put my $2.75 in the little thingy and the bus driver handed me a transfer. So, today, when I got on the #20, I put my money in the little thingy and waited for the driver to hand me a transfer. When he didn't, I attempted to take one for myself.

Well. If the nasty old prick didn't try to slap my hand!! What am I? Three years old? "Don't just help yourself," he says. I pulled my hand away like the bad girl I was. But, I tell ya, if that sonofabitch had actually connected... I had visions of grabbing him by the goddamn throat and stuffing every fucking transit into his miserable mouth. Customer service, London Transit Commission! It's a real thing and it keeps passive-aggressive, misanthropes like me from abusing your self-righteous, transfer-hoarding bus drivers. How the hell am I supposed to know that I'm not allowed to touch the transfers? There wasn't a sign, cause believe me, I checked. My 24-year-old daughter had to explain it to me this way, "Nobody tells you how to be an adult. You have to learn through bad experiences."

This is the most unfortunate thing I've ever heard, but it is sooooo true! And, it describes my life thus far. I'm often too afraid to try things because what if I do it wrong? My hand will get slapped. I'll be a disappointment. I'll lose everything. What if I forget that person's beans with their brisket platter? They'll never forgive me. Their night will be ruined because of me. They will say how awful I am on Tripadvisor and our ratings will go down. What if I offend someone because I said "cunt" on facebook?

I really don't give a flying fuck about that one actually. But, it briefly occurs to me that lots of people don't like that word. Well... don't be a cunt about it. I don't like the N word, either, but I don't have the right to say it OR the right to be offended by it. I have a cunt of my own, and could be described as one on occasion, so I figure it's my word to use whatever way I want. Cunt with chips, Cunt flaps, cunt hear what you're saying, slap in the cunt with a buttered brick. Whatever.

Lastly, I had a great time at the Western Fair. Yeah, it's expensive as all hell and a huuuuuuge waste of money. But, I took my nephews on the weekend and they thought it was great. I even went on a ride for the first time in... thirty years maybe? Always trying to get out of my comfort zone and try new things, in spite of the chance I'll get my hand slapped. New things like deep-fried, bacon-wrapped Twinkies. Which wasn't a mistake, but certainly wasn't the life-affirming event I had hoped it would be. I'm easily amused, clearly.

As I was leaving, I saw a guy wearing a shirt with a Canadian flag that said, "Fit in or fuck off". Sigh. So, this douche is the main reason I stay inside all day and read books. I'm glad we all have a right to our opinions. "I do not agree with what you say, but I'll defend to the death your right to say it." The internet tells me Evelyn Beatrice Hall said that - Fuct if I know. Either way, douchey t-shirt guy describes his ideal world as one in which everyone shares the same beliefs. But, I can tell you that's not where I want to live. I want to hate/love people, while eating leafy greens on top of fried cheese and speaking Turkish with a French accent between a nasty old bus driver and a barista with great tattoos and hairy armpits.

Take this job and shove it...

     I'm flighty. I admit it. In fact, I've almost come to take pride in my instability. I'm a free spirit, a freewheeling, capricious hippy of sorts who could be perfectly happy living out of the back of a car and taking odd jobs across the country.

     Unfortunately, I still owe about five grand on my car. Therefore, I must find - and keep - steady employment.

     Recently, I re-discovered this fabulous arrangement called a temporary employment agency! I got one of my favourite jobs through a temp in London back in the late 90s. I was a filing clerk. All I had to do all day was scan documents onto microfiche and file the original alphabetically. I had a cubicle and I never had to speak to anyone. The days flew by and I had access to a great cafeteria. 

     So, I signed up with Adecco in October to see if I couldn't find a nice cubicle to hide in for the winter. Somewhere that I wouldn't have to see anyone until about March, at least. I was in luck! They had an opening at the local auto parts assembly plant. I just needed a pair of steel-toed boots and a positive attitude.

     I know alot of people who work in factories. They seem to have their shit together as a demographic. They have regular schedules and they make reasonable money. But, I had never actually asked them what they do when they are at work. I assumed they watched stuff go by on a conveyor belt or something.

     My friend, Kairn, works midnights at the same factory. When I told her I was starting on Monday, she said, "You're not going to run, are you?" 

     What the fuck kind of question is that? Why would I run? Where would I run? Is it a morale building exercise? Or are there just people who run from one end of the plant to the other with special messages or extra parts? 

     Whatever. This was a new adventure in my life and, if nothing else, would give me fuel for the blogging fire.

.....

     My first night, I was eager. I had my pink-laced safety boots, my positive attitude and comfortable pants. I had healthy snacks and lots of water. I had a friend on the inside. What I didn't have was the right address. I went to plant one instead of plant three. 

     Minor snag in my first day. I spent some time checking out the emergency exits and the cafeteria before I figured out my error. I still managed to get to work and meet my Adecco contact who brought me to my "cell", the factory equivalent of a cubicle where I would make a small part of a vehicle with my small team of co-workers. 

     Not what I expected at all. Not only would I have to work with people, it would also be very loud and very, very hot. I was in hell. My own, specially designed hell with safety glasses, ear plugs and cotton gloves. 

     For whatever reason, the cell I had been assigned to was not running on my first afternoon. I worked the 3 to 11 shift, btw. A shift designed to unequivocally fuck up any plans you may have had for the entire week. Instead, they put me in fabrication. I had heard that I would not like fabrication. That it was boring. All I had to do was wait a minute and a half for a machine to form two little plastic lenses (one left, one right), check for imperfections and pack it in a little tote. I loved it for the first hour. However, one hour of waiting for parts to drop so you can look them over in 95 degree heat without anything interesting to distract you can feel like ten years. I started to throw parts in the garbage for anything that might be construed as an imperfection so I wouldn't even have to pack it up. Eight hours of that was the longest day of my life and that's saying something, considering I have been a municipal council reporter for an independent newspaper used to wrap flyers. 

     Anyway, on day two, I arrived eager once again at twenty minutes to 3 p.m. My Adecco contact met me in the cafeteria and said, with no trace of sarcasm, "Oh good. Nice to see you haven't run yet."

     What the actual fuck? What does this mean, this "running" business? Do they think I'm some kind of dimwit who can't take a boring shift? Do I look that soft? Is the job that bad? Is it that hard?

     Once again, my cell was down. So, they took me to the wall. "Riding the wall" is another term for being pimped out to other cells rather than being sent home. It's the equivalent of being picked for teams back in elementary school, something I've always dreaded. I waited patiently for various cell leaders to come along and choose me for their team. No one wanted the eager, chubby woman with the pink shoelaces. 

     In an effort to find me a place, I was brought from one cell to another looking for someone to babysit me for the next seven hours. Finally, I got a reluctant taker at the Dodge Charger cell. All I had to do was snap some Lego together, plug in some wires and swipe my thumb to send my part to the next guy. 

     I was a pro! I snapped that shit together like it was my job! Cos it was! And, I watched our stats go up on the monitor. We were working at 97 per cent since I started on board! Fuck yeah! The evening flew by and it was great. 

     Over the next couple of nights, the Charger cell was down, so I had to make head lights for mini vans. Booooorrrriiiinnnnggg! I took an extra shift on the weekend plugging a string of Christmas lights into something. I don't even know what it was. But we made about 600 of them in one shift. I was fitting in fairly well anyway. Even when I was "riding the wall", I was always first picked because I was a fast learner with fast fingers. 

     The next Monday, I went back to the original cell - the one that was down on my first night. I was just learning a new process when they came over from the Dodge Charger cell to get me. Apparently, I had been chosen for that spot. It was going to be my home. In fact, as my Adecco contact so blatantly put it, I would be attached to that spot with a ball and chain... indefinitely. 

     This would be my third night of making Cherger tail lights. Pick up a part, put it on the table, turn right, pick up two more parts, put them on the first part, turn around, pick up two more parts, plug in the electrical, turn left, pick up a cover, pick up the whole thing, put it on a different table, swipe my thumb, pick up a new part, put it on the table, left, right, back, front, right, left, swipe.... and so on and so on.

     After the first fifteen minute break, I started to feel dizzy. I was spinning and spinning and spinning. I tried to focus on the conversations of my team members, but it was so loud and it was so hot. I started to sweat. I felt faint. I kept spinning and spinning. Doing the same thing over and over with no end in sight. There were still six hours left of my shift! I just needed some air.

      So, I ran. I really just wanted to go outside and breathe some air that didn't smell like hot plastic and greased gears. I wanted to hear the rain on the pavement instead of the whine of robotic arms and multi-tonal beeping. When I got to the cafeteria doors, there was a sign that said, "If you've left your phone in the woman's bathroom, please contact the manager".

      Are you fucking kidding me? I'm in the middle of a panic attack and I've got to go look for a manager because I left my cell phone on the toilet paper dispenser during break! It was clearly the gods telling me that I was not cut out for assembly line work. Too soft, too flighty, too dizzy. Whatever the reason, I ran out of that place, with my phone safely tucked in my comfortable pants, never to go back. I'd rather deliver pizza.