More Sheridan Egg:
Lucky for me the dump was downtown, next to the grocery store, which stayed open past our break, which was dinner time for me. I think I bought my dinner there every night I worked there. BTW, that was approx 730pm. I'm quite sure the stepmonster never provided anything for my dinner.
First night: show up for what amounted to orientation, if I recall correctly, they sort of showed me what to do and turned me loose. Holy hell. They don't start the new guy doing the easy work, they start the poor bastards doing the many tasks that I told you about. About half way thru the 2nd half of the night, I was dying of thirsty, so I went to the water fountain and did my camel imitation. The supervisors were sorta surprised that I came back. My cousin Billy had not come back for entire night, big strong all state throwball player and wrestler/marine-to-be couldn't handle it.
That same spring, I had yanked the engine out of my old car and overhauled it. At one point, grandpa and I were loading the block into the back of his pickup so I could take it to town to get Jim to use his ridge reamer on the cylinders (selfish bastard would not loan a tool!); Grandpa heaved when he should have stood still, because he pinched my right pinky between the block and the tractor. This was shortly before graduation...and I remember this because the pinky nail turned that lovely shade of black and hurt like hell even during graduation...some guy was shaking my hand and I was being a wimp about it, he wanted a good hard squeeze, so I showed him my poor dead pinky nail and gave him a proper shake leftywise.
I told you that story to tell you this one.
I was working away in the egg dump, maybe I even graduated to flat loader from the shitty hump the boxes and flats and egg bucket task; I slid my hands down into the box to pull out the flats and the edge of that dead fingernail caught on box and peeled back. What a funky f'n feeling, I guarantee! Put on a bandaid, but a few nights later finally just pulled it the rest of the way off.
Probably as early as the 2nd night, I took in a jug so I didn't have to make a trip to the water fountain, I kept it on top of the machine thingy. At some point, one night, some dickhead must have put an egg in it, I went to take a drink but found the lid to be loose, and when I looked in....it did not look right, so I figgered some smart turd had been up to shenanigans.
One time I wore a white Tshirt that I had worn whilst painting the barn with Steve and Grandpa, of course it had red paint on it. One old dumbass was worried that it was still wet....he was sure that the USDA inspector would throw me out for wearing a shirt with wet blood on it. Dude, don't assume.
Once while the "ladies" were cleaning up after a rotten egg incident, I was resting, apparently I was emulating a plumber, and a wiseass thought it'd be fun to pour some egg down my ass crack.
I worked there about 10 weeks, long enough to get pretty strong, long enough to get sick of burning egg smell, rotten egg smell, egg processing plant smell, etc. The end came when we'd been putting up hay, mowing it in the very back of Grandpa's barn. I was throwing the bales to the other guys, and my back rebelled. I guess I wasn't as strong as I thought, huh? Anyway, I called in sick a couple days, they said: bring a doctor's note. I didn't have one, so they sent me on my way. Dumbasses. I wasn't going to stay there a long time, anyway...had a church trip to Chicago coming up, moving to Phoenix coming up, so long Sheridan Egg.
Lucky for me the dump was downtown, next to the grocery store, which stayed open past our break, which was dinner time for me. I think I bought my dinner there every night I worked there. BTW, that was approx 730pm. I'm quite sure the stepmonster never provided anything for my dinner.
First night: show up for what amounted to orientation, if I recall correctly, they sort of showed me what to do and turned me loose. Holy hell. They don't start the new guy doing the easy work, they start the poor bastards doing the many tasks that I told you about. About half way thru the 2nd half of the night, I was dying of thirsty, so I went to the water fountain and did my camel imitation. The supervisors were sorta surprised that I came back. My cousin Billy had not come back for entire night, big strong all state throwball player and wrestler/marine-to-be couldn't handle it.
That same spring, I had yanked the engine out of my old car and overhauled it. At one point, grandpa and I were loading the block into the back of his pickup so I could take it to town to get Jim to use his ridge reamer on the cylinders (selfish bastard would not loan a tool!); Grandpa heaved when he should have stood still, because he pinched my right pinky between the block and the tractor. This was shortly before graduation...and I remember this because the pinky nail turned that lovely shade of black and hurt like hell even during graduation...some guy was shaking my hand and I was being a wimp about it, he wanted a good hard squeeze, so I showed him my poor dead pinky nail and gave him a proper shake leftywise.
I told you that story to tell you this one.
I was working away in the egg dump, maybe I even graduated to flat loader from the shitty hump the boxes and flats and egg bucket task; I slid my hands down into the box to pull out the flats and the edge of that dead fingernail caught on box and peeled back. What a funky f'n feeling, I guarantee! Put on a bandaid, but a few nights later finally just pulled it the rest of the way off.
Probably as early as the 2nd night, I took in a jug so I didn't have to make a trip to the water fountain, I kept it on top of the machine thingy. At some point, one night, some dickhead must have put an egg in it, I went to take a drink but found the lid to be loose, and when I looked in....it did not look right, so I figgered some smart turd had been up to shenanigans.
One time I wore a white Tshirt that I had worn whilst painting the barn with Steve and Grandpa, of course it had red paint on it. One old dumbass was worried that it was still wet....he was sure that the USDA inspector would throw me out for wearing a shirt with wet blood on it. Dude, don't assume.
Once while the "ladies" were cleaning up after a rotten egg incident, I was resting, apparently I was emulating a plumber, and a wiseass thought it'd be fun to pour some egg down my ass crack.
I worked there about 10 weeks, long enough to get pretty strong, long enough to get sick of burning egg smell, rotten egg smell, egg processing plant smell, etc. The end came when we'd been putting up hay, mowing it in the very back of Grandpa's barn. I was throwing the bales to the other guys, and my back rebelled. I guess I wasn't as strong as I thought, huh? Anyway, I called in sick a couple days, they said: bring a doctor's note. I didn't have one, so they sent me on my way. Dumbasses. I wasn't going to stay there a long time, anyway...had a church trip to Chicago coming up, moving to Phoenix coming up, so long Sheridan Egg.
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