Saturday, October 27, 2007
School. Stay in school. |9:55 AM| As I have gone on at length on these subjects to a few people, they can probably yawn and move on from this. For the rest of you, here is my tale.
I was banished to San Antonio recently, sort of. I was sent there for work, to make sure the computers for the job site (as well as the printers and those pox-on-the-maker's houses time clocks).
A job site, meaning, construction site. I now work "in construction". Stay in school, kids!
We're near a convention center, hence the need for the hotel, so there are often streams of people wandering by the site, dressed in band uniforms or 3 piece suits, what have you. When kids, around high school age or so happen to wander by in a group, whilst I yank a time clock off of a wall, cutting my hand on the sharp aluminum, I chirp out "Stay in school, kids!" in as cheerful a fashion as I can. "Some geniuses still end up breathing fumes for a living!"
There is an inversely proportional relationship between the amount of safety gear you wear and the relative prestige of your job. Since I am compelled to wear a hard hat, safety glasses, sometimes ear protection, and steel toed boots, that puts my job prestige rather far down the list. This is in comparison to say, an executive, whose main protective gear would be a particularly sturdy tie pin.
There are exceptions to this rule, one being "Astronaut" which is still quite prestigious, though not as much as the "Right Stuff" days.
However, full immersion sewer diver has to be mentioned. Christ. I bet the money is great, though.
There are spike pits here. Fireballs, moving platforms, huge pipes. It's a lot like a Super Mario World level. I'll let you guys know if any mushrooms start sliding around.
No flowers, fire or otherwise, grow in this ruined earth.
School. Stay in school. |9:55 AM| As I have gone on at length on these subjects to a few people, they can probably yawn and move on from this. For the rest of you, here is my tale.
I was banished to San Antonio recently, sort of. I was sent there for work, to make sure the computers for the job site (as well as the printers and those pox-on-the-maker's houses time clocks).
A job site, meaning, construction site. I now work "in construction". Stay in school, kids!
We're near a convention center, hence the need for the hotel, so there are often streams of people wandering by the site, dressed in band uniforms or 3 piece suits, what have you. When kids, around high school age or so happen to wander by in a group, whilst I yank a time clock off of a wall, cutting my hand on the sharp aluminum, I chirp out "Stay in school, kids!" in as cheerful a fashion as I can. "Some geniuses still end up breathing fumes for a living!"
There is an inversely proportional relationship between the amount of safety gear you wear and the relative prestige of your job. Since I am compelled to wear a hard hat, safety glasses, sometimes ear protection, and steel toed boots, that puts my job prestige rather far down the list. This is in comparison to say, an executive, whose main protective gear would be a particularly sturdy tie pin.
There are exceptions to this rule, one being "Astronaut" which is still quite prestigious, though not as much as the "Right Stuff" days.
However, full immersion sewer diver has to be mentioned. Christ. I bet the money is great, though.
There are spike pits here. Fireballs, moving platforms, huge pipes. It's a lot like a Super Mario World level. I'll let you guys know if any mushrooms start sliding around.
No flowers, fire or otherwise, grow in this ruined earth.
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