NutsOne was pulling a giant neverending Elvis sleeve out of a slot on the factory ceiling. I did the same thing for ten hour stretches, three days in a row. They said I was 'very good at it' and offered me the job full-time, 55 hours a week for the equivalent of 3 quid an hour. I said no. The worst thing was that I'd nodded to the forklift driver early in the morning on the first day, and every time he drove past (about once every four minutes) in the next three days I'd feel obliged to nod to him again.
The same temping agency got me a job at the Whitworth's factory up the road. At about twelve o'clock, after about five hours of sweeping, I felt a strange tightness in my throat and inspected the pile of sweepings I'd collected. it was full of nuts. I had to go to the manager of a nut factory and explain that I was deadly allergic to nuts.
Oh yeah, and I worked on a chicken farm. Sorting, washing and grading eggs in a freezing cold shed for days on end. To this day I can guess the class of an egg by looking at it. Only they don't use the same measurements any more. My skill is useless. At least I got to shoot rats with an air rifle.
(The same temping agency got me a job at the Whitworth's factory up the road. At about twelve o'clock, after about five hours of sweeping, I felt a strange tightness in my throat and inspected the pile of sweepings I'd collected. it was full of nuts. I had to go to the manager of a nut factory and explain that I was deadly allergic to nuts.
Oh yeah, and I worked on a chicken farm. Sorting, washing and grading eggs in a freezing cold shed for days on end. To this day I can guess the class of an egg by looking at it. Only they don't use the same measurements any more. My skill is useless. At least I got to shoot rats with an air rifle.
PygmyShrew,
Tue 11 Nov 2003, 19:58,
archived)