Fish Wrap, Riff raff, and Willy Wonka Medallions

Still on this unusual spree of work. It's characterized by eight hour shifts, early to bed, an alarm clock, drive-time morning radio advertisements ("FRIDAY NIGHT! BIG TRUCKS!!") odd encounters with strangers, etc. It's unusual for me, anyway.

My job is at the local newspaper, in the bindery department, and I am called a 'finisher' but the slang is "jogger" because I "jog" newspapers into a neat pile to fit into an inserting machine for the advertisement pages. It's my second factory job. Really quite amazing for a former C.E.O. don't you think? But I was a practicing alcoholic and in a dream.

We are required to stuff our ears with this foam that conveniently expands after a few seconds. You are not deaf, then, but it's as if you've gone undersea.

All the bad clanging, the industrial vaccuming noises, and apparent explosions are muffled, and therefore completely harmless. I love this foam. It makes the entire plant sound like Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory. Bells, whistles, chugachuga, chitty chitty ding ding!

And you hear things you wouldn't hear otherwise. Like, when the machine is about to break down. There's a click-click- wheeeeeeze! click-click, no one can hear without the foam in their ears. Those of us who are equiped are like some wildlife before an earthquake. We know.

And since the machine breaking down means we get a break, we don't tell. We exchange glances, with raised eye-brows and secret smiles.

The only draw-back is that I am always imagining my boss Joe's voice yelling "JACKSON!". It's a true audio hallucination, I always turn around and look for him, wondering what on earth does he want to talk about now? I've given all the advice I have to give.

It's also unusual to be so serene when a coworker cusses me out. I discovered that today. It turned out to be a mistake, but he didn't acknowlege it was a mistake.

I wasn't shaken in the least. I'm not kidding you, I even considered that he was having a bad day, and possibly coming down from some angle dust he took during his lunch break.

I didn't even have the urge to tell the story when I got home. Only mentioning it here.

When I got home I mostly talked about my cardboard and paper cuts, while Mimi obliviously or defiantly discussed what a wonderful lunch she'd had today (this is over chat, from Iowa).

She, Ma Kettle, and my online physician (you have one too, right?) are always telling me what they've done in the kitchen, perhaps because they think I have an eating disorder, which by the way I told them I do. (See below, the post on 'dual diagnosis', about Seroquil).

As they start to lose their superlatives they'll conclude with statements like: "and I love cilantro".

There is always a word I don't know, and won't look up.

(Well now for a Medallion of Buffalo Tenderloin, I think. There's still some of that Romaine Lettuce with Blood Orange Vinaigrette left in the fridge, thank you Jehovah (and for that nice bit of halibut). Vermont Camembert Cheese and Spiced Walnuts Petits...there, we're getting presidential almost, I think it's the Prior's actually. And he is notorious for keeping track of what regularly goes missing. (Put me in charge though.)

Life flickers between this ether and real life here. "MySpace" is still the internet, and now Moise has a page, just to remark in passing. It turns out she's a complete stranger to me, or she was until now. (I'm talking about a woman who is usually about twelve steps away from my door, down the hall.) Lucky break for me she's got all her info on the internet now, or I'd have eventually been caught in an embarrasment. Like for instance: "John. How can you say you didn't know I have a wooden leg??" Or, "You forgot I have a masters in fishery biology, and a doctorate in ichthyology???"

Fools with their blogs! Just post anything, like you're writing in the air. They should switch to scrolls, like me, and be so obviously preposterous or pretentious no one will ever believe. Or read.

There's a theme to this post. You'll know when I wrap it up like a newspaper columnist.

So this big dope who cussed me out at work today ought to watch out what he says to strangers because you never know. I say 'big dope', but I mean Tubby, which is what I think his friends call him. Tubby was eating a Mcdonalds breakfast right under my nose this morning, getting his paper work greasy. But it was that paper work which eventually gave me my paper cut today. So you never know, you really don't. The grease didn't spread to the sharp edges.

If only he'd stuck to some brain food like fish, which isn't so greasy (if breaded); if only he'd had the breakfast an Ichtymologist wouldn't have the heart to eat. Then the day would have been perfect.

But that's like saying, if only I'd had some cilantro.

WRAP.

you mean 'fish wrap'- ed.