I work at a place that makes stuff to get oil out of the ground, after these other guys have put the hole in the ground. My small part of this place only makes stuff to get oil out of the ground that is at the level of ground with salt water all over it.
My job is to put pics on flat white sheets, so that the guys in back can make the parts for this big “tree.” That’s what we call it. I make pics, but to make them, I have to use this big box and a mouse. My pics are made in such a way as to show all sides and depth of the parts. 3-D. Cool job!
It makes me sad that I was not clear. Still, it is hard for me to say with the rules of this game. But, I will try one more time.
I think you caught that the thing they did not pay for comes to them on a wire. It is a wire that is, when you get right down to it, two wires. Wire one is in wire two. This thing that they buy puts shows on small screens in their house. At times, they buy a thing to make their views of the web go fast (and this board too, if such a thing can be).
Most folks pay for this every month. But some don’t. If you don’t pay for it for one month, those who sell it say “Hey, you did not pay for this.” and leave it at that. If you don’t pay for two months, they say, “Yo, bud, you’ve got to pay this real soon.” And they call them up and send them mail. If it gets to the third month, they send it to me. I give it to one of my nine guys, and the guy goes to their house. He talks to them, and says, “I have a job here to cut off your stuff, but, hey, let’s see if we can nix it. All you have to do is pay me such-and-such.” One of my guys will have lots of these jobs each week; as many as twelve tens of them, or so. They each have a week to get as much dough from the folks as they can. Some, though, they have to cut off.
To cut them off, they climb a pole. They don’t cut it, per se. They twist the wire off of the port it goes in to. Then they fix the wire so that it can’t be hooked up by the folks who live there–not if they don’t have the right tool, that is.
Most of the time, it is the first thing you said: they don’t pay the bill. Most times, they are just poor all the time, and some would say they should not have had our stuff in the first place. Some times, they just lost their job, or got hurt at work. But lots of times, they lie. The lie to my guys all the time. Lots of lies. Lots. But that’s a rant for the Pit.
Some times, though, it’s the thing you said next. Some times, they steal the stuff our firm sells. The run a wire to get our stuff for free. We fix that, too. Most times, we just fix that, and that’s an end to it. But some times, we sic the law on them.
Best part of the job: we talk to folks all day. Some folks are real cool. It’s good to be out of doors all day, too. Some folks, though, are gits. They yell and cuss. They hide from my guys. They lie. They are no fun.
I hope I gave you more to go on re: what I do. It was more work that I thought it would be. I just read what I wrote, and I think I sound like Seuss. Or Dick and Jane. Cut, Steve, cut!
I blow glass. The place at which I work makes nice art glass things in rich hues. We heat glass in a big pot until it’s hot and soft. You know the sweet stuff that bees make, that you put on toast? That’s how soft the glass is. Then I take a long steel pipe and dip it in the hot glass. I roll it and shape it, and I blow in the end of the pipe, and make things from the glass. I might make a bowl, or a cup, or a vase. It’s hot work, but it’s fun. I love it. The pay is not so good, though.
From time to time, waste is left where it’s not safe or good for the earth. Or, a firm may want to change the stuff that comes out of its plants, or how MUCH stuff they put out. The state and feds hire me (well, my firm) to make sure that the soil and air and streams are safe when folks walk or wade or dig or drink, and that the guys who make a spill do what the law says. We add up the risks and make sure they’re not too high.
Most of the time I sit at my desk and add up sums and write. But a while back I got to go out West and hang out with milk cows and take bits of their feed stock to test for 2,3,7,8-tetrachlorodibenzo-p-dioxin.
The place I work for works with the right to drive cards. They work with lots, but not all of the states.
I make sure that things will work all the time. I make plans to keep new things up more of the time. I write too much, and script not as much as I’d like. I fight vars and I am a var. I do not work with Bill’s stuff, I work with Sun. I tell them the right way to do stuff, but they do not do things right. I make it so that when one of my things can’t do its job, its job still gets done, then I call some guys and they make my thing work. This is fun, but hard.
My boss can not pay me. He pays a guy who pays me.
I work for the folks who pimp the net to folks. I watch dough and try to keep it in the right place.
I watch The Suits’ dough ooze out of the holes in the loops. I stick my thumb in the hole and yell, “Doom!” If I yell loud, or if a lot of dough is lost, the suits ask me to teach them to plug the holes with things that are not my thumbs. That way I can use my thumbs to still do things, and they learn to keep their dough.
I talk to your Dad, Mom, Aunt, boss on the phone and in mail too. I help them keep their dough too. I teach them to spy a thief on the net. To keep their dough cards safe and keep their dough in their own bank, not in the hands of a young (or old) hack.
A lot of the time, I lurk in my cube and hide from the folks who “work” here too, yet don’t know (or do) a damn thing.
I look things up on the web or in books for folks who make lots more dough than me. These folks help and guide firms so they will do well. These firms sell food and stuff to folks that sell you food that you do not eat at home, but at sit down or fast food joints.
More and more, I track the health of this trade with charts and facts (the kind of facts you can count with or add up to mean stuff). I have to learn how to do this on the fly, since I did not learn this in school.
Feds can only buy “good” things. For a thing to be “good”, it must pass tests. I don’t give tests; I make sure that those who do, do it right.
And I think of ways to make sure that bad guys can’t spy on us when we use the 'net. If a light bulb goes off, I write down my thoughts, in big words, and send them off to smart guys. They read my words and then tell me if it will work, or else that I’m full of crap.
This eve at six, I had a big test for my class in lit trans. (Yes, that’s what we call it. Tough beans.) That’s the class where we take French books and short tales and write them in my first tongue. Be that as it may, I think I aced the test. I did my French trans test last week, so I have just three more tests and then I am done for this term.
In May and June I’ll have my Eng Three and Eng Four to take, and then I get my sheep skin.
w00t.
A cette heure je vais voir si je peux faire la même chose dans la langue de chez nois. Oui, je peux. C’est le fun en criss.
I sort mail, but I do not have a gun and I have no wish to shoot up my place of work. Well, I have no gun at least. I sort mail from Prague, France, Bonn, the U. S. of A., and Zim… no not that last one. Then I send it to towns in Oz. I work nights, talk to my own self, and scare small kids with my wild stare. Soon the men in the white coats will come to cart me off to a room with soft walls.
I write tech specs. I help folks with large blocks of bits and bytes. I post on this board, too. My job can be dull, but can be fun too. We have a gym at my work and I go once a day. But most time is spent on my butt. Face in front of a screen, you know what I mean?
Damn. How about we replace “only” with “just”?