Tuesday, July 27, 2010

Bulb Picking; Year Three

My return from daffodil bulb picking, now the third year I have done this job in the service of the perps and their machinations as to having me handle botanical material, be it bulbs, potatoes, raspberries, strawberries and last, but not least, weeding. I was lucky I didn't get dispatched to the other two crews this morning, as they did weeding all day long.

I got to pick bulbs up from the bulb picking implement that lifts them up from the ground, not unlike a potatoe picking machine, and attempts to rid the soil so the bulbs all sit on top. And we farm laborers pick them up, separating out the rocks and soil clods, which the machine cannot do.

I arrived via the city bus (yes, a minor freakshow), and a farm bus pick up, to the farm at 0715h, and I thought it was going to be a 0730h start. No such luck; a 45+ min. cluster fuck/marshalling exercise, likely arranged by the perps so the freakshow could go according to plan. Among the marshalling freaks/farm workers were heavy tattoo-ed dudes, pony tail dudes, MIW (Men In White -a scary band of fuckers), turbaned E. Indian (only one), and even a touque wearing dude on one of the hottest days of the summer. Go figure.

Other in-field nonsense was at least four red shirted males "popping up" beside me in adjacent rows, as they always seem to know where to go without talking to the foreman. The flatbed truck came to take the bulb filled crates away, and the driver just disappeared for some 10 minutes, leaving the truck sitting there in front of us having lunch. Then this scenario played out at the opposite end of the field, some 700' distant, where the truck arrived, and sat there doing nothing. I looked for the driver and he was nowhere to be seen. This is how it played out for some 20 minutes longer until the foreman rounded up the designated helpers to aid in loading, and lo, if the truck driver just didn't appear back in the driver's seat and turn the engine on. Totally bizarre, as they never had these clusterfucks and sitarounds last year; mornign marshalling was over in 10 minutes, and anytime the flatbed arrived the loading crew was all over it ready to go.

A brief shopping trip brought on my consort of freaks and other gangstalkers. They are now, after some four years of shopping at this local supermarket, bringing on male checkout staff. And what a choice; some gormless looking twit helping to pack groceries and with no chin, truly of the Unfavored.

And the perps are working me over as to the source of my kiwi fruit; last week it was from Chile, this week from New Zealand, this being the off-season for kiwi-fruits as they mature locally in December-January. The in-season kiwi fruit is usually from California, though there is local sources sometimes. I once owned a small acreage with one acre in kiwi fruit, so I became quite accustomed to eating this fruit, as it was very local once. No doubt the kiwi fruit provenance is a big research scene for the perps, attempting to tie local soil energetics to that of the fruit, along with the energetic effects of the water supply, and then to determine the downstream energetics effects on yours truly. Like I care, and like I asked to be part of this. NOT, and I am totally pissed off 99% of the time, and have been for over eight years being the target of this harassment and with huge local population involvement, not to mention scripting my every interaction with someone who knows exactly what I am going to say. Worse yet, they won't let me take any measures to end this depraved obsenity of my existence. I won't get into the details, but this pisses me off more than anything else.

And laundry Fuckover games continue; the assholes have fucked the 6th floor washing machine to add more lint onto garments than they had going in. I used the 5th floor laundry room, and twice it has stopped in mid cycle and drained itself, once all over the floor. The seventh floor laundry has an unworkable coin slot so no go there, and then they fucked me out of bringing my keys for the 8th floor laundry. The assholes used to plug up the washing machines in the last residential apartment block I lived in, sending me up and down to find an availible washing machine when no one else lived in the entire building.

This one is done for the day, and onto bed time at 2110h

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