Here it comes....
The feeling was like enrolling into a new school. A swirl of emotions came crashing inside your stomach when you first step into the classroom. Your brain start firing those inevitable questions when you are confronted with unfamiliarities. How would i blend in with the guys? Could i blend in? Will they be friendly to me or totally ignore me? Is the homeroom teacher friendly or fierce? Can i be happy in this new place? Say, can i not change school?
Of course this is all just me imagining things as i started my second season at wandin valley farms cherry factory, where Victoria's finest cherries are sorted and packed. I am not entirely unfamiliar with the place, in fact i knew all the staffs from last year. However i do know that i will have almost entirely new coworkers. Which would reflect exactly the feelings they had. It is not so different than getting into a new class albeit with the same backdrop. It was exciting as it is worrisome. Though i know best not to let the as-yet-proved thought get to me. Last year's experience taught me a few things i know i should do or shouldn't.
Keeping up with the supervisors was as tricky as getting the latest Apple gadgets without being 'outdated' a few months after with a 'newer' version of it. Worrying how in god's name the person next to you is so freakishly fast and awesome with his sorting skills that you thought you are worthless-money-sucking-zombie-sorter. Constantly thinking when is the next break time and cursing each time the so-short-why-the-hell-even-they-are-giving-breaks-at-the-first-place Sandy calling up with her usual "the bird is singiiiiing, radeo!!!, chop, chop!!".
Then, when you are just a bit better in sorting you started to hate the person next to you/in your lane by being unbelievably slow. Like hey, am i the only one properly sorting in this lane?!! Using each and every available chance to air your grouses to your neighbours, whom with a good chance was also hating you for being a slowpoke. Or cursing you irritations audibly slow to the point of mumbling constantly. Those who might know better would say you looked like a grouchy old nanny.
Of course it didn't help having a foreign coworkers in the same lane with you, given if you were irritated with them. Given the chance, which is every chance you got, you would curse loudly and with full confidence knowing that they wouldn't understand anything you said. Only to get red-faced later when you realized that person knew your language (believe me, happens all the time).
That not saying the cherries are all good news either. Of course if the cherries were perfect they wouldn't need any sorter would they? Having basically three or four sorters in each lane would normally finish the job picking out 'seconds' and 'wastes' out from the end box. Then came the cherry 'tsunami'. That would still be fine if not because of the 'shite' (ramona's term) cherries that came with it. Even with seven or eight person in the lane wouldn't do much help. And you thought you are better than the rest just now. Thus, the emergency stop button that would be constantly abused to save the bad cherries from getting into the end box. The box would then be triple checked by first the end box person, then the box packer, finally at the cold room at the back before they are packed into a stack of pallet ready for export.
Cherries at the end of lane, ready to be checked and packed. Please ignore the smiling faces. |
The typical look during peak cherry season. Everything's fast and furious. Don't mind the guy at the far right trying to woo the girl at the end (cherry romance is a usual occurance) |
But enough of the cheery stories told, what i really want to tell is the cherry friends that i got to know, whom are all the most friendly and awesome people i've know in a while (in the next post) :D
Awesome, awesome people! - daniel mcqueen |
nicee
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