Me and the Mexican

2135h
A day of flower picking, daffodils of course, and it was just me and the one Mexican who showed for work today, most odd as there has been some 30 to 40 each day. [Update; they were shut down]. Some fly out tomorrow or go to other farms in their six month visa stay. It is a Sunday, and normally they work to the last day possible, so it is odd that only one came to work, and he arrived just as the bus was about to depart. None of the senseless 30 min. wait time for him in the mornings, and none of the surge of Mexicans that cluster around me as I am counting out my (brown) elastic bands for the day, putting them onto carabiner-like clips to keep them in bunches of 50 each, so I know where my bunch count is while picking. A hundred bunches is then tallied by the supervisors and goes into the system, and by which we get paid.

He knew a little English, but that didn't matter too much as piece rate work is a solitary existence; head down, time is money, every mortal second. We were the only two assigned to this one field that led to the busy Hwy 17, Victoria to Swartz Bay where the ferry terminal is for the British Columbia mainland (Vancouver, Fraser Valley etc.) But the infernal noise of Harley motorcycles was out in force; over the eight hours of flower picking there had to be over a hundred, often in groups of two. And it wasn't very warm out either, even if no rain today, so I cannot imagine why so many bikers were out today, except as a contribution to the management of the noisescape the perps like to maintain around me.

Then plentiful hot-rod muffler noises as well, that throaty gurgling that can be installed, it seems, on pickup trucks and other vehicles. Imagine the organizational effort; scripting eight hours of vehicular gangstalking on a four lane highway. Though I only looked infrequently, the vehicles were ordered by size, shape and color, and in one instance, the red and yellow vehicles side by side had a motorcycle escort to ensure that loathsome noise was in direct association with the vile color combination. (Have I mentioned in past blog postings how much I loathe the sight of red and yellow together, e.g ketchup and mustard?). Putting the Unfavored noise with the Unfavored vehicle combinations. I have seen other combinations where they arrange a hoarse ill-maintained mufflered vehicle to be clustered with some four others from the greyscale colors, all of which have normal muffler noise.

He in dayglo yellow-lime green, me in dark green rainpants and rain jacket. This site was a quarter mile to the farm warehouse where the perps forced a crap again, toilet #2 blocked. And the one I/they blocked last week wasn't cleared, so we have a time series of blocked toilets. Not only that, they arranged a leaking ceiling in the locker room that just "happened" to leak water onto the outside of my gumboots, giving them a dose of city supply water instead of rainwater. And given the perp's obsession over all forms and water and its origination, color, turbity and other properties, I would surmise this too must  of been yet another water games stunt of theirs.

And getting off or on vehicles is always a big deal for the perps; back in their high-abuse grandstanding days of 2002 to 2003, they would spray my hair with something as I exited the bus. Now, they put their Fuckwits to stand in the rear exit doors even with plentiful seating. So.. when getting off the bus a walk-with-me crew bus traveler, as she "happened" to need to get off downtown and visit a supposed friend at the nearby residence tower, the one that appears to have no one in it most of the time. This woman is a forewoman and has jerked me around a number of times as to daffodil flower picking quality as it seems that I know more about than she does.

And as it "happened", this sidewalk corner location had been just poured in the last week, so we both crosed from the old concrete where we disembarked to the just-poured (in the last week) corner portion that had been ripped up earlier. And have I mentioned the perp's obsession over exposing me to concrete redi-mix trucks as well as street works where they are pouring pads, curbs and sidewalks? Not recently I don't think.
Mar,21, 2011, 2045h
Another day of toil in the daffodil fields, this one less remunerative as this field by Hwy 17 is nearly picked out. I was the informal crew leader to direct the six to pick their row-pairs (two rows of daffodils, one center trough to walk in) and then picked myself, "happening" to end up in my two rows from yesterday that were mostly picked. The strangest memory lapse in recent history was that they screwed me out of knowing that I had picked there, and had me re-picking the same row again, as if anew. Then they screwed my recall even more by having me note these knee impressions in the humped up soil, and making me wonder who did it, when in fact it was me yesterday. Recall fucked and fucked again. This is getting seriously disturbing these memory fucking games. And about the time they let me in on what really happened, why the noisescape suddenly went into much higher volume. I had a legit roofer's tapping noise (working on a house nearby), the highway noise and a Bobcat to the S. scrapping soil all day long.

It was the day I took some cut-up envelopes as paper to write down my employee number and bunch count to accompany the box of unattended picked flowers. I had run out of Post-it notes, equally problematic in wet and muddy conditions. But two of the crew seemed to know this, and asked for me to lend them the pen, and then the E. Indian and his big turban and long beard, last year's champion starer for no apparent cause when HE was the freak, leveraged the English language barrier to have me write out his number and bunch count on three sections of the cut-up envelopes. (And we are talking adhesives here too, a long standing perp obsession). He ran me out of paper supply and for his last bunch count, he somehow found some light brown colored paper to write up his details for the box of daffodil bunches. I got plenty of face time with him today, a first, as he knows so little English (apparently). As always, headwear, and particularly enlarging kinds like turbans are high on the Unfavored list, and the perps made sure I got a mighty fill of him and his turban today. He was doing "twin turbans" with another E. Indian last week, in keeping with the theme of twinning Unfavored demographic group members. Recall I had twin male ponytails and twin skinheads also.

I also had the return of the Baghead dude and his girlfriend, as they hadn't shown up for over a week. He had this brown wool "bag hat" I will call it, an oversized and formless hat that contained all his hair, which I know from the last time I saw him 1.5 years ago when he got canned for stealing food from the compost pile, contains his dreaded dreadlocks. And that particular hairstyle has to be the fugliest and disgusting thing/style anyone can wear on their head, maybe even worse than the skinheads, but only the perps would know for sure, as they constantly test me for my subconscious reactions between one Unfavored category and another. Recall that they were testing me with a fat woman (over 300lb) and the Fugliest Negro last week, back and forth, look at one, and then the other. Thankfully the "bag hat" dude kept it in a hoodie for the day, about the only redeeming event for that particular headwear to date, also an Unfavored sight and often presented by the perps in making sure I see plenty of them. I sometimes wonder if I have ritual abuse subconscious traumatizations that are persistent, given the perp's preoccupation with showing me knives, blood (or facsimilies thereof) and hoodies, even in the height of summer.

I purchased new rainpants only five days ago as my old pair somehow erupted with holes at the knees, and lo, if the new pair without any apparent holes also leaked at the knees today. A case of forced prouduct return again, and we have done that so many times, but this bullshit over leaking water in at my knees (as I kneel down when I pick to save me from the imposed back pain if standing and leaning over) is outrageous. Another one of those mega-flukes where the discarded pair and the new replacement pair of the identical brand and size just "happen" to leak at the same location on the garment.

And it was a special day for knee games too, as it was the first day I wore my blue and white athletic knee pads under my pants to thwart the myriad of stones that now seem to be stabbing me in the knees. What am auspicious occasion for the inaugural new rainpant knee leaking jerkaround. And too, because we are working to end this job in a week or two, I won't have an opportunity to take my rainpants in for exchange until after this gig is over, as they are caked in mud at the end of each day. Or at least, that is the planted limitation, but I don't think the real me would take sopping muddy raingear back to the store either.

A trip to the local supermarket tonight and what a freakshow that is. But first the stairwell that I take; about a week ago some whitish stains were on the mid-grey painted concrete, not unusual given the perps seem to crave to have color and greyscale variation around me. Then one 2" spot of loose dry soil "shows up" on one stair on the first flight down. The next day two, and today, four stairs in succession have soil aggregations on them in a line, oblique to the treads. I always thought that cleaning would be improving the place, but here we have a case of incremental soil testing on me when not at the farm.

Back to tonight's grocery shopping; at 1945h, about the time that all downtown workers have long gone, but not tonight; dude flushes of three wandering through the produce section for crissakes, my redcoat coverage that started when blocking egress within 10' of entering the store also "showed up" again at the back of the store where I selected the yogurt. A dude flush of two semi-retarded types with oversized ball caps and dressed nearly indentically in baggy black clothing put on two reprises. And then the checkouts were jammed up so I do another store tour, still getting screwed into "forgetting" one of the three items I had planned to acquire. Then a (white wool) bagheaded negro woman doing a still pose in profile in the produce section "happened" to come barrelling at me around a corner from the opposite direction (and how she crossed the span of the store to do that in such limited time is another interesting side question), and then a skinhead as the stocker/stalker was on duty in one aisle, and then a staring dude while he was standing around among a cluster of six or more grocery bags. Then I get screwed twice with gangstalkers getting ahead of me in the line, and then a couple behind me start having a disagreement with the dude seeming semi-retarded and using this as an excuse to move closer to me pretending to be unaware. By this time I was getting too close to the tall blonde in front of me, but she artfully kept her back to me and pretended not to know. Then the checkout cashier called on the phone for a "bagger" and lo, if she wasn't a large fat blond woman. As I was about to enter my debit card details, why, a light flash from low down and to my right, and lo, if it wasn't one of those dumbshit motorized wheelchairs with the culprit/prick keeping his headlight on. And then to get out the place, and lo, if there wasn't a cluster of four Fuckwits at the exit, keeping me in place for longer, and forcing me to take an evasive path closer to the wall, walking over the normal location of the flower stand that was taken down. Then a dude flush around the corner on the street, three abreast and all in baggy black jackets and yet again looking like they aren't collectively playing with a full deck. Finally I get to my apartment lobby, and a dude is hanging out on the couch, also in a black jacket and looking sideways at absolutely nothing of interest in keeping with the insane perp obsession about looking elsewhere than expected. And that stunt also played out earlier when I finished up the laundry, rounded the corner and there ahead of me was this bald dude leaning against the wall and looking down. I am bound to approach him because my doorway is only 7' from this utter freak, and I keep my eye on him and he doesn't look up at all. Totally beserk perp behavior IMHO.

I had been "skinheaded", as in gangstalked in excessive amounts or else forced to look at one that "happens" to be in my view, on the way back from the farm in the crew bus. He wore a toque yesterday, but today seemed to be assigned to showing off his bald pate to my disgust. He was sitting on the R side facing forward, opposite the driver, and it was the same seat that the Fugliest Negro habituated and the rest of the crew would leave vacant for him to occupy. From my perspective, it became the "Freak Seat", where the most Unfavored specimen sits to somehow add "freak commonality" to the same seat on the bus, each trip. Don't ask me why the perps do this, but they do, looking for some kind of spatial/juxtapositional commonality or whatever the fuck they are hounding me over.

Enough blogging tonight, and I won't get to the recent comments for a reply for a few days yet.