07/24/2003 - 9:39 p.m. | this is three pages in ms word

What a stupid, useless day. I guess it didn't start out too differently. I fought the same losing argument I always do at 6 a.m.: "Dude, you should totally just go back to sleep!" "But I can't! I gotta work!" "Man, fuck work! Sleep is awesome!" And on and on for about 10 minutes until I finally just leap out of bed really fast before I can talk myself out of it. Shower and drive, cherry Pop Tarts, all still very typical (well, I guess I usually have strawberry, but I'm trying to downplay the useless details, right?) Once again, I am (late! and!) assigned to welding plant supports. Fine, fine. This is all decent, too... except when I fell in the huge box. I noticed that one of the plant supports in the box was at a weird angle, so I walked over to fix it, tripped, and tumbled into the big pile of pointy metal prongs (hot pointy metal prongs - from the welds) Like headfirst and everything. And it was really loud. So that's probably worth something.

Anyway, at some point, I finished up all the small metal circles I need for welding, leaving like six huge piles of big metal circles. Someone miscounted. Thus began the sitcom-like scenario where no one would understand we were out of small circles until I said it. I started winding, and Snake King walked over, looked at me, looked at the plant support welder, and then looked at the empty buckets the small circles are supposed to be in. Then back at me. Then the buckets. Then me. "We're out of small circles!" I finally say. "Oh. Guess you'd better wind then." :| A short while later, Harve walks over, looks at me, looks at the empty buckets, looks at the welder, looks at the bucket, looks at me, and asks, "Are you done already?" "Yes. We're out of small circles." "Oh. Then you should pound legs." MOTHERFUCKER. See, the last step of the plant support making process is taking these wires with little open hooks on the ending, popping them on the supports, and then hammering them shut. Everyone knows I am bad at this. Everyone. Seriously, I was genetically-designed to be bad at this. I'm like a supersoldier of bad hammering. No depth perception = psychotic aim. It just doesn't work. But who am I to complain?

Thus begins the complex process of setting me up to pound legs. Now you�d think I could just keep winding while Harve stumbles around and tries to get me set up, but nope � I have to stand and watch. First, he has to get the special hammerin� table or something. So he has to find it. So he looks around for 10 minutes and finally realizes it�s outside. Then he has to bring it inside. I suggest that, God forbid, I could stand to get a little sunshine and work outside. He ignores me. So he goes to get the fork lift. Knocks some cans of spray paint over. Asks, �What was that?� I reply, �You knocked some cans of spray paint over.� He ambles over and picks up the cans of spray paint. He takes the hammer, gloves, and extra legs off the fork lift and then drives it outside. Then he tries to move the junk off the hammerin� table. He can�t. I do it. Then he tries to move the table to a position where he can grab it with the fork lift. He can�t. I do it. He moves it inside. I start to set everything up how I need it. He realizes I need boxes. So he has to find the boxes. He asks Travo. Travo doesn�t know. So he wanders around for 10 minutes. I watch. He finally realizes that they are on the top of a high shelf. He goes� somewhere. I thought he went to get a ladder except he didn�t come back with a ladder and there was one by the shelf already. He extends the ladder, locks it into place, sets it against the shelf once, twice, three times. Climbs up. One step, two, three, slips,, three, four, five� Up to the top. Are you getting the tedium here? Half an hour has passed since I did anything resembling work.

Then Harve starts tossing bundles of boxes down at me. I�ve never feared more for either of our lives. The way he stumbles everytime he gets a bundle off the shelf and lets it dangle down over me while I try to grab at it. I just kept imagining them smashing into my head over and over and then him falling on top of me. 10 minutes pass. We finally have enough bundles down. Finally, time to start hammering.

Oh, I forgot to mention that hammerin� table is made of metal, so it makes a very noticeable noise when I miss my mark Clink clink DONK clink clink clink DONK So, I establish about as good of a system as I ever could hammering. A little assembly line thing slowed only by the fact it takes me a solid minute to hammer all four legs on. See, the only way I can hammer is through confidence. I have to assume I�m going to hit it dead on (and therefore with tons of force), or I�ll just hit weakly. This explains the DONKs. So, I precariously stack my finished plant supports on a chair (I don�t see anything bad coming, do you?) and then walk over to the big tapletop stapler across the factory to make my boxes. Harve asks what I�m doing. �Making boxes.� He asks why I�m not using the stapler on the other side of the factory. �Because you moved it over here.� You can see the light bulb go off in his head. �Well, we�ll just move it back over there then!� �No, really. It�s fine. I can just carry them.� He ignores me.

So, they haul the stapler over, set it up, knock over my pile of plant supports (surprised?), and it�s back to work. I grab a box, fold it, and slam it into the stapler. Water sprays me in the face. This is not a normal occurrence. Try again. Water in the face. I try it a few more times, just because I�m now sorta amused at the joke it has decided to play. Then I call Harve over. Why didn�t I ask Snake King? Why oh why. So, Harve drains the spigot or something (and I swear he accidentally drank the dirty shit water some 10 minutes later) and has me try it again. Still sprays a fine mist, and now it�s not stapling. It gets stuck and you have to unplug the air line to release it. Harve tries this for several minutes (staple, stuck, unplug, release, plug back in� except he takes about 2 minutes for each of these things� attaching the air especially). Now, I�m not at �double E� or any of that shit, but it seems to me the machine is a little waterlogged and if you just mash the stapler for long enough, the water will empty out, and it�ll work. Harve decides that it needs oil. I�ve worked at this place for 3 years now, and I�ve noticed that Harve�s solution for most things is oil. So, he calls Snake King over and displays the problem for him (staple, stuck, unplug, release, plug back in, staple, stuck, unplug, release, plug back in�). �Yes, definitely needs some oil,� he says. I�ve given up on ever making money by now. I grabbed a stool and just watched the magic unfold. So, Snake King grabs a little bottle of oil and gives it to Harve. Harve, however, doesn�t seem to understand the oil release mechanism (you have to pull out a little tube all the way) and has to have it explained to him over and over several times throughout the entire oiling process. So, 10 more minutes, and everything is finally all lubed up. Swell. Harve tries another box; it sticks. And another. And another. Finally, Snake King is like, �Maybe it�s waterlogged.� I cracked up. What clued you in? The fog streaming out of its every orifice? So, they mash the staple mechanism a bunch of times until the water is cleared out. Harve tries a box; it works. �Well, it�s all fixed!� he cries proud. Thank you, genius.

At about this point, Doughboy arrives. Saving grace, I think. Maybe he can pound legs! �No,� says Harve. �Let�s continue having the kid with the obvious handicap work at it and put the cretin somewhere useless.� Come on! Doughboy sucks at everything; might as well just give him a sucky job. He won�t be able to the tell the difference! Meanwhile, I could crank out at least a pallet for you guys. No. Legs. So, now that Tom�s here, we have to figure out how to share space, which means I have to move all my junk around again. I will work again at some point.

Finally, everything is ready to go, and �clink clink DONK� begins again. Somehow I had a really bad headache by the end of the day. I pounded almost 800 legs; sounds impressive, doesn�t it? $15. >:O I�m so glad this is the last day for it. At some point, I decided that my tongue is cute. Well, just the tip. So I�m going to stick it out a lot more and look mildly retarded. I had a dream last light about Aleve (you know, the aspirin or whatever?) that you poured into coffee. It was really delicious. At about 1, I got a bit of a chocolate fix (10 points from Slytherin if Spritz mentally rolled his eyes or some shit), so I took a box of Milk Duds from the box. One of the flaps was partially opened, which I guess should be worrisome, but I thought, �As long as they don�t look deformed or messed up or anything, I have no problem eating them.� Each Milk Dud was covered with a mysterious pus-colored crust than cracked when you touched it. Yeah, should be fine. Went back to the box, grabbed another box of Milk Duds, and opened it up. Same thing. So, one of two things is true here: either they are both fine or both tainted. I just wasted a buck fifty, so I�m gonna go with the former. I mean, seriously, how sick could I get? And, really, if I were able to choose the way I died, I would so go with tainted Milk Duds. I�d want that on my gravestone. �Nathan Walsh � Killed by tainted Milk Duds, the stupid fuck� Anyway, I continue to live, so I assume the poison hasn�t settled itself in yet.

Scurried out without finishing my pallet ($54 � ick), trying to avoid Snake King because I knew he was gonna ask if I could work on Saturday. I haven�t given him a straight answer yet. I have �til tomorrow � thoughts? Excuses? Drove home, eating sandwich along the way and listening to the radio. By the way, yay for Lou Reed lyrics (�Walk on the Wild Side�):

�But she never lost her head / Even when she was giving head�

Energy was lower than ever today, so I only read about a chapter before I fell asleep. For four hours. Jeez. And I was only truly aroused � let me rephrase � finally wide awake when Vanessa called to say hey. Then I stumbled downstairs to watch �Biography� with my mom (Ron Howard is cool!) and eat generic Chef Boyardee ravioli. Came back up here, finished my book, and I guess that�s finally it. I just feel like I didn�t get much done today.

Today�s idea: Spritz. Metal codpiece. Fireworks. Six-foot column of flame shooting from his crotch. The mental picture alone is pretty superior.