Ran into my old foreman Jack in the pub after work yesterday. I forget his last name but he was born in Russia so the boys in the mill called him Jack Meoff. Jack moved into the Interior many years ago where he is now a mill super. He is in town on a bender. It was good to see the old drunk fuck. I figure he had been drinking vodka and beer for hours before I thirstily swung open the pub door.
"The boys at the mill I run don't call me Jack Meoff like you and your fucked up pothead friends used to call me. They call me Jack Youalloff when they think I can't hear the half deaf bastards squawking. Workers are pert near the same everywhere I guess.
There is one difference worth noting that separates mill workers in the Interior from you motherfuckers on the coast. My human resources fuck gets at least a dozen guys from the coast in for job interviews every month. He asks them all the same thing - if I hire you are you going to work when you get in the mill? He says the cocksuckers all say the same motherfucking thing - Hell, no. The lazy assholes just come up here to satisfy EI they are looking for work while they are probably making more cash running grow-ops than they would ever make in a mill. Those slacker fucking assholes have got to pull the rag out of their asses."
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