Sunday, December 09, 2018

Sticky Negro at Work

A negro wall covering tradesman was hounding my ass at work yesterday, a Monday, the usual day for escalated perp fuckery. Said fellow was working on wall coverings, and on one room I was working on, both his appearances seemed totally gratuitous. Hanging around, admiring my work cart for crissakes, and then fumbling around and handling one of my tools. For his second act, timed perfectly just when I started applying PL glue, and after his dissembling banter, he then declared he wanted to use the door to outside which was blocked by a tradesman's ladder. How fucking lame was that, when no one uses that door anyhow?

In the afternoon we met up again in another room where the same negro was putting on wall covering ahead of me so that I could then put on the chair railings afterward. A skunky looking Asian joined him as well, who took it upon himself to borrow my tin snips for crissakes. The three of us nattered on and off, each doing our respective jobs and got along fine. I find it interesting that the perps put on negro stalkers from time to time, all the more evident in that they are as rare as hen's teeth in these here parts. But I suppose some are going to show up somewhere, especially in a trades situation where many trades are converging, often with personnel from across Canada.

A visit to the oncologist in Kelowna today, and the news is mixed. My PSA score went up a little, deviating from the expected trajectory of it going down some more, below 1.0. My summertime PSA was 1.2, and it went up to 1.4 last week. So... more doubt, (aka big time FUD) as another test is scheduled in three months, and depending on the result, a possible further test with a radioactive tracer in Vancouver. The perps just love that shit; having radioactive tracers clinically injected and then a following scan. Two bone scans in 2016-17 needed technetium, and the SPECT scans of 2001 before the assholes went berserk/overt in 04-2002. And a seemingly needless MRI in 2000. Woohoo... another dimension to perp fuckery is radioactive tracer infusion with a following scan. As if being irradiated daily by a conformal beam gamma ray beam for 6 weeks last year wasn't enough.

And it was too much; based on my yoga competency I finally feel I am pulling out of the hole the radiotherapy treatment put me into. With a big assist from my ADD Rx, started 07-2018. Though I still have infuriating side effects that I won't go into, and today's visit to the oncologist didn't provide any optimism. Another year  possibly he says.

A tattoo-free new yoga instructor yesterday. (So it would seem that the prior instructor's tattoos were too disgusting for the perps to gain whatever intelligence they were looking for while I avoided this grotesque Unfavored visage). I have encountered this instructor before, and she is decidedly worth looking at. (And she "happened" to be at the SOF supermarket for two of my visits in the prior four weeks). From 15 yogis per class regularly and now it is suddenly down to 6 of us. I cannot see that she would deter attendance, as it was a good work out. And as it "happened" the only yogi who says hello to me was in the foyer when I arrived, she having finished her class. She also has the distinction of the only yogi with whom I have had physical contact in class as a result of a one time instruction session about two years ago. Interesting that this yogi now only shows up at these transitional junctures almost exclusively.

Just when I was figuring that this construction gig was done, why, a new task in attending to the "deficiencies" as they call them in the business. In this case, mill work installation that isn't up to scratch in the eyes of the general contractor. I have cleaning and caulking on my list. Though this didn't occur as straightforwardly as it seems. First the foreman said there wasn't much to do, so I was to install chair rails only partially in two rooms that weren't finished. I get the work cart all ready, tools and supplies, get it up to the floor, and then I a call from the foreman that there is a "deficiency list" to attend to. So... I retrieve the work cart, put the tools and supplies away, and then attend to my new task that continued all week. The off-then-on again stunt, this time with employment termination injected into the mix. Been there, done that, and all in keeping with the perp's insane prerogative over the employment theme.

What is it about stalkers on on my ass at every turn, literally, as I make turns at certain corridor corners especially at the hospital construction site? Yes, these are central locations that hundreds, if not thousands, of personnel, patients and vistors will make  when the building is occupied for decades to come. So just leave me the fuck out of it as I don't realy expect to be there very often, if at all. And what is it about the perps and their insane hospital theme they need to keep hammering me with?

This three time loser -(Penticton Herald newspaper, and Ignani is his handle should the link disappear) from a shithole state; now in the local news for kidnapping a couple and then when the trial starts (featured locally), one of kidnap victims skips the country, and the other cannot remember a thing in court (she claims) and has disavowed her police statement at the time. Is this some kind of joke or what? How  could anyone ever forget such a traumatic incident? The shitholer has already done 42 months in jail, awaits another trial for assault in jail, and is now in the middle of this court farce for 10 counts related to his kidnapping of the couple. No doubt this woman's "memory failure" is on account of the kidnapper's further nefarious dealings, as in threats or cash.

Lets check out the kidnapper's total past and future taxpayer tab: 42 months at $150k/year in jail. Then this trial and the next one; likely to be another $500k in legal and incarceration costs that this mofo has rung up by the time he is sentenced. And then this $1m loser cannot be sent back to where he came from (say the immigration apologists) because he might be executed in Iran. I say fuck it; let the Iranians deal with their very own spawn and have them do us all a favor. The limp-wristed do-gooding limousine liberals that created this legal absurdity need a wake-up call to stop acting like ruinous spendy naive boy scouts and  to demonstrate some gumption in dealing with such financial squandering. (The said kidnapper's trade seems to be drug trafficker, so do we need this shitholer anyhow?) Trump has got it right on this one, as profane and crude as he is. As for Canada, we won't ever get it, as the bleating media hasn't got the gumption of a wet rag. Nor will we ever get anything close to a Trump, as sorely as it is needed. Talk about pressing all my buttons.

I am doing a lot of caulking this week, laying a bead of just the right size of sealant at the join of counter and wall surfaces, matching my caulking gun travel speed with the trigger pressure, which is also moderated by the size the the gap that I see coming up. It gets very zen, pulling all these dynamic parameters into play and doing it right. And just when I get there, why, some kind of interruption then "happens" to screw it up, often just a little, but a disruption all the same. "Somehow" I need to make an extra step, I run into something, my fingers somehow just don't do what I want etc. and the caulking bead "somehow" goes too thin or thick or else the irregularly bead globs up. (All fixable by later (many) iterative passes with moistened fingers and cloths, but more work all the same). And have I mentioned before how much the perps just love to disrupt a zen moment, or otherwise level of competence attainment just so they can fuck it up and cause extra work and perturb me, sometimes to extreme levels (though not at a paid job)? And just what is their problem that they simply must jerk me around as soon as competence/total task engagement develops?

And what is it about other tradesmen, sometimes tradeswomen, who "need" to lean on my work cart at the hospital construction site? Usually it takes place in the elevator, a more compressed room if you will, where someone puts their hand on my work cart that has my tools and supplies on it. Like WTF; it isn't as if they are off balance, or the work cart is shoved up beside them, but they do this, perhaps 2-4x/week. It must be some kind of energetic comparison, where this shill/operative needs to replicate their interaction with the same work cart. That is, replicate and have it compared to me, with me having pushed it into position, though not necessarily touching it at that moment they are.

The most egregious example of this work cart touching games last week was this apparent electrician, a woman who came along and plopped her paper plans on my work cart while I was about 4' away, and no one else was around. (I was attending to a room's "deficiencies", and not even close to an elevator). She doesn't look up, doesn't ask, just "happens" by and dumps her papers on my cart for a minute or two. Fucking rude, and just as bad as the E. Indians on the work site. Which, in speaking with the general contractor superintendent, seems to be a common complaint with that lot. It isn't just me.

Enough rants for the week, and to wind down my last week as a construction laborer. Though I really don't have any complaints, as it is much more interesting than vineyard work.

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