Saturday, February 13, 2010

Count to Ten

Count to ten again and again all day long; ten cut daffodils to a bunch, and I cut 325 bunches and earned a whole $64 at the piece rate of $0.20/bunch. I would of been better off at minimum wage. A hell of a way to go to pay for a PC upgrade and save for my income tax. That was it, a whole day in the daffodil fields replete the now expectable helicopter passes (military Sea King twice) , at least four SAC bombers passed by (noise at least), and a host of smaller private aircraft. Then, per usual in the farming work, vehicles on the periphery of the farm were lining themselves up with their headlights and keeping them trained on me, what I call pit-lamping.

Back willing, I will keep doing it to save some dough, spend per above plans, and continue with this absurdity all week, next, and likely longer. I will attempt to get some hourly work though, rather than putting up with this. And too, the perps get to befuddle me all day as to how many boxes of 50 bunches I picked, how much I got paid per bunch, and playing on my ignorance (highly managed by them), as well as sponsoring at least a dozen rounds of getting the calculations wrong for piece rate work. And just to think, they get to do this every day I spend in this manner.

So... when I went to the LD store tonight and loaded up on Milka chocolate bars I counted ten, two more than I usually get. And it was only when the cashier dude was ringing them in, and said there was ten, was I allowed to know it was an exact replica of the amount of daffodil flowers per bunch, what I had been counting all day. Fucking hilarious, but this serves as an example of the inane and stupid games that are arranged for me, to me, and involving me.

The flower picking wasn't a bad as I had feared, but that is not to say it was any bit pleasant to be bending over all freaking day, and straddling these 14" humps of soil with the troughs being very slippery. I had decent clothing on that kept me warm, and although there was plenty of wind, there was only a occasional smattering of rain. But one could say that I got my yellow color dose for the day, so much so that they put on the dark green and white school bus instead of the yellow ones they have. This is the crew bus that picks up pickers at different locations at 0650h in the morning, and drops me off at 1800h.

And plenty of orchestrated seating arrangements on the bus; the E. Indians sitting in front of me, turban and shawl, and no one needs to tell me how much I loathe the sight of such head adornments, being of the Unfavored kind. I did some E. Indian conversation time before getting on the bus, so I assume the two seats in front and the two behind, were vacated for me and my consorts, and whatever fugly colors and headgear they wanted to bring. About halfway through the bus trip coming back, the E. Indians moved to seats near the front, presumably as some kind of brown color (skin) reference that needed to be farther away. Then the red and yellow dressed dufus sat in front of me for some two minutes before retreating behind me, where he came from. Like I some kind of stigmatized fuckee; no one sits around me, but only do "tours" for short durations. If I don't like red and yellow together, especially in the form of clothing, then I don't see why its anyone's fucking business but my own. But instead, it seems to be a matter of national security given the number of Fuckwits putting on this color combination. And no, I don't go to McDonald's to be inundated with red and yellow, never mind that horrid clown, and the food as an afterthought.

I just finished a screaming match with the sickos; they repeatedly fucked me out of spelling common words, and then hammered me again while attempting to correct the forced typos. What it takes to lead a normal life around here.

Other farming and gangstalking news of the day was the constant finger fumbling the assholes put me through, not wanting me to become competent in the new task of cutting and handling daffodil flowers. Then there was the extra-gravitic fuckery where one flower stem would slide out of the bunch, friction be damned. And as an extension to that, flower stems that would just fly out of the bunch even if frimly grasped. All to play more games to piss me off, out me off my count, and otherwise be a sabotaged in attempting to earn a meagre living. No doubt the disability thing is going to end this year, and minimum wage jobs and piece rate aren't going to do it.

Anyhow, I am tired, and won't be blogging too much these next weeks, as this kind of job is made to whack me out.

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