To celebrate the return of my journal, I've decided to relate the day
after my last St.Pat's day post....
After having a successful, yet expensive March 17th, I had to be at work 5
hours later. For any of you that know the hurt of short shifting a night of
debauchery with the next day's work, you know my pain.
Suffice it to say I was in rough shape. This would have not been much of a
problem, as I was pencilled in to 'down-rig', I.E. be the guy who
takes care of the rigger in the crane, getting him all the equipment he
needs, lights, steel, shackles, etc. This usually includes nothing more
than sending a motor chain up (motors that lift the truss that you put the
lights on)...BUT, that day, it seems that some fucking ponce had decided
NOT to do their job to order all the equipment nessesary. So I end up
walking shitloads of miles going back down to the stash and picking up lil
bit of shit by lil bit of shit until they finally figure out they need.
Again, this would not have been so bad except for the guy who was rigging
that day. A nice guy all around, but with ZERO confidence in his abilities.
Any of you who have worked for people like this know that this ends up
being a hellish experience of 'more work than is nessessary'. We
were setting up a shitty little government public policy forum to talk
about immigration. Basically, a whole bunch of public servants self
flaggelating and stroking each others cocks at the peoples expense. This
fuck is up focusing lights like it's
'Les-fucking-Miserables'. "Oh, can we go back, I don't
think I got the last three right..."
HOLY FUCK CAPTAIN IT'S NOT THE SUPERBOWL
No one is going to notice a tiny bit of spill from the far left inky, no
one is gonna care that the leko isn't perfectly straight. I can barely
keep down the street meat (hotdog vendor food) that I choked down this
morning. I am thirstier than Lawrence of cock sucking Arabia here, and I
want to go home.
I like the guy, but at this point I want to beat the fucktard into the
ground with a large stick. The capper comes when he needs to fix a light so
it can fit the way on the truss that he wants. Instead of coming down,
setting the light on a table and fixing it, he figures he can do it all in
the air. After 20 mins of fucking the pooch, I tell him to drop the lift
and hand the whole thing to me. I have it fixed in under 10 secs (it
wasn't a big job, undo bolt, move bolt, re-do bolt).
The final straw comes when the audio-visual lead and comes over and asked
where is curtain is...it seems he ordered a 20' high curtain from us
to cover the back. I tell him we have never had curtains and if it
doesn't have a plug on it, we don't deal with it. He counters
with the so fucking funny quip that truss doesn't have plugs. I come
within inches of plugging him. Lucky our lead hand steps in and explains
the situation with more eloquence than I could muster at that point.
To end, it was 4 hours of hell that should have been 2...I slink home and
it takes till the afternoon of the 19th before I start feeling human
again...but I swear, it was the longest 4 hours of my life since birth.
Related: This is a leko
posted by Wit on Wednesday 22nd March 2006, 13:41:03
it's Murphy's Law: Anything that can go wrong while you're
dealing with a hangover, will. Sorry man, you should have plugged the cord
up his ass, at least you would have felt a little better.
haha awesomeness!, when a writer can make you feel as if you are right
there with them (albeit a little techinical jargon was thrown in)
that's when you know it's a good read.
you should have beaten the smart aleck over the head with a leko
St.Patty's day - Part 2, 'The Day After'
