29 November 2016
Grey Cup Aftermath
It was one of those Mondays at the sawmill today. Day after Grey Cup. Everybody fucking hungover just a little worse than most Mondays. Fewer hours of sleep than usual. The cocaine boys had not slept at all. It was like living with the occupants of the Belmont Hotel before fentanyl came to town.
The foreman were worst off of all. Motherfuckers had a wing-ding that would kill just about anybody who was not already half dead from working in a sawmill their whole fucking lives.
The day went just about the same as any Grey Cup or Super Bowl Monday: Somewhat unproductively. Every time it looked like the milmight get a little flow going somebody from the union or a fucking foreman sabotaged something and brought everything to a halt. Without the sabotage there would have been casualties. Do not need that shit a month before Christmas.
Just the same I had a busy day in the first aid room. Every sliver, nick and speck of dust (real or imagined) gets brought to my attention the day after big game days.
Asked everybody how their party went as I slowly attended to their needs.
"Great whisky," "Great strippers," "Coke that would bring Castro back to life," were popular answers.
Asked my foreman about his party after lunch when he had begun to look like he was from the same species as me. "Great whisky, great strippers, coke cut with meth and the best toothless hookers this side of the motherfucking Alberta border."
Fucking foreman always want it known their parties are better than the ones we hold on the union side. Only times that was not true over the years was when we had Angels on the shop floor.