Memories Of Casual Summer Employment
True Story – half a lifetime ago in the time between high school and university I spent a few weeks working on a building site. The job was to convert an old whisky warehouse into executive apartments which would then be sold for the equivalent of the GDP of a small Central American country.
My task was to run the cables for the TV antennas and the CCTV security system then install the wall sockets and cameras. Easy work and as we had negotiated a daily rate with the contractor speed was not important. As construction work goes this is about as simple as it gets.
The crew consisted of me, another student, the contractor’s son and a gaffer. For two weeks we were all lads together and lurked around the site like “the last gang in town”. Taking extended lunch breaks, heading to the pub when it rained, having a laugh and generally just fucking around trying to spin the job out as long as possible. To this end we would engage other workers in conversation, so much so that an Indian labourer started to seek us out to shoot the breeze.
Anyhoo…this gentleman started to join us at lunch time to enjoy his sandwiches and practice his English. All in all I have to say he was a rather charming and intelligent chap with a nice line in self deprecating humour. The one thing that bothered me though was that he had the nastiest looking and smelling lunch I’ve ever seen.
Eventually I plucked up the courage to address this issue and asked him what it was that he was eating. The gentleman stared at me for a moment then simply said pate.
I thought no more about it until the following day when lunchtime came round again and I found myself in the company of the Indian chap. Again I was overpowered by the scent of his lunch and again I asked what it was. Once more the answer was simply pate.
After a few more days of this one of our crew decided that he fancied pate for lunch instead of the usual cheese and pickle combo that he had in his lunch box. Finally it was lunchtime and again the enigmatic Indian sat down to join us. My colleague enquired as to the identity of the gentleman’s sandwich filling and received the usual answer of pate. This was followed by a couple of minutes of frantic negotiation on a possible exchange between the two with my colleague enthusiastically extolling the virtues of cheese and pickle with the fervour of a TV evangelist.
Reluctantly the Indian gentleman gave over his lunch to my delighted co-worker and settled down to consume the cheese sandwich he had received in return.
Meanwhile my colleague was grinning from ear to ear in anticipation of his tasty delight. He smiled, gave the Indian a big thumbs up and took a huge bite of the pate sandwich.
What followed was a few moments of coughing, retching and much shouting of “what the fuck is this?” “That is the most disgusting thing I have ever tasted” and “Pate my arse”
Once the dust had settled the inquest began. It turns out that the sandwiches had not contained pate at all but actually contained dog food. Our Indian friend admitted that he had initially eaten dog food by mistake believing that it was pate. On discovering the truth he was somewhat embarrased but by this time he had decided that he actually quite enjoyed the taste. He then decided that given the relative low cost of the filling that it made economic sense to continue eating it.
I was 17…I had no idea you could be that poor, especially in this country.
True Story – half a lifetime ago in the time between high school and university I spent a few weeks working on a building site. The job was to convert an old whisky warehouse into executive apartments which would then be sold for the equivalent of the GDP of a small Central American country.
My task was to run the cables for the TV antennas and the CCTV security system then install the wall sockets and cameras. Easy work and as we had negotiated a daily rate with the contractor speed was not important. As construction work goes this is about as simple as it gets.
The crew consisted of me, another student, the contractor’s son and a gaffer. For two weeks we were all lads together and lurked around the site like “the last gang in town”. Taking extended lunch breaks, heading to the pub when it rained, having a laugh and generally just fucking around trying to spin the job out as long as possible. To this end we would engage other workers in conversation, so much so that an Indian labourer started to seek us out to shoot the breeze.
Anyhoo…this gentleman started to join us at lunch time to enjoy his sandwiches and practice his English. All in all I have to say he was a rather charming and intelligent chap with a nice line in self deprecating humour. The one thing that bothered me though was that he had the nastiest looking and smelling lunch I’ve ever seen.
Eventually I plucked up the courage to address this issue and asked him what it was that he was eating. The gentleman stared at me for a moment then simply said pate.
I thought no more about it until the following day when lunchtime came round again and I found myself in the company of the Indian chap. Again I was overpowered by the scent of his lunch and again I asked what it was. Once more the answer was simply pate.
After a few more days of this one of our crew decided that he fancied pate for lunch instead of the usual cheese and pickle combo that he had in his lunch box. Finally it was lunchtime and again the enigmatic Indian sat down to join us. My colleague enquired as to the identity of the gentleman’s sandwich filling and received the usual answer of pate. This was followed by a couple of minutes of frantic negotiation on a possible exchange between the two with my colleague enthusiastically extolling the virtues of cheese and pickle with the fervour of a TV evangelist.
Reluctantly the Indian gentleman gave over his lunch to my delighted co-worker and settled down to consume the cheese sandwich he had received in return.
Meanwhile my colleague was grinning from ear to ear in anticipation of his tasty delight. He smiled, gave the Indian a big thumbs up and took a huge bite of the pate sandwich.
What followed was a few moments of coughing, retching and much shouting of “what the fuck is this?” “That is the most disgusting thing I have ever tasted” and “Pate my arse”
Once the dust had settled the inquest began. It turns out that the sandwiches had not contained pate at all but actually contained dog food. Our Indian friend admitted that he had initially eaten dog food by mistake believing that it was pate. On discovering the truth he was somewhat embarrased but by this time he had decided that he actually quite enjoyed the taste. He then decided that given the relative low cost of the filling that it made economic sense to continue eating it.
I was 17…I had no idea you could be that poor, especially in this country.
2 comments:
I tried that for a while.
It made my hair lovely and shiny but I didn't like the wet nose
Haaaaa haaaaaaa!!!!! That was fantastic!
Still laughing... ... ... ...
... haaaa haa! Great story Dave.
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