Tuesday, September 25, 2007

Rebel Waltz

The plant has been shutdown for the last couple of weeks for maintenance, project work and so on. It's very different to normal operations and the production people - me, the other engineers and chemists, and the operators and their foremen - spend their time assisting contract work as opposed to making drugs.

Now I may have mentioned this before, but I have a really nice office! It's about 5 stories up and looks across Cork harbour towards Monkstown on one side and Cobh on the other. It's especially nice today with the low sun shining across the water and the water is rippling nicely with the breeze and bobbing all the boats about. Very relaxing!

However the ONE thing wrong with my office is that a PA system speaker is right outside my door. And it's pretty loud. And, for some reason, getting people to carry pagers or walkie-talkies seems entirely beyond this factory. So every ten fucking seconds for the last three weeks I've heard a message blare out for some fella or other to contact '960' (the number the foreman is at).

But it's not '960' - it's 'NIIIIIINE, SIX, OOOOOOOHHHHHHWWWWW...', complete with inflection at the end, because this factory is full of bloody Cork people! Full of bloody Cork people that seem to accentuate their already ridiculous accents when asked to use the God-damned PA system.

On top of that, a whole bunch of the said Cork people using it have got it into their heads that they're supposed to blow into it before speaking. I mean WHAT. THE. FUCK! My head is absolutely wrecked and, earlier on when some of my work was busy going tits-up, and that yoke was blasting away, I nearly attacked it with a spanner in temper.

But I didn't. Instead I have written this in the hope that it will be cathartic. It isn't yet...
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