Darn wharfies. I am one but I Still think they’re dumb as dingleberries. The guys I work with, seriously, you couldn’t trust em to count to ten. That’s labouring for ya. Kills brain cells. More brain cells than beer or anything else combined, I reckon. Also a lot of them didn’t finish school. I dropped out in year ten myself but my Dad was a professor so at least I inherited a bit of cultural capital.

This one guy I’m working with a t the moment, Jezza, he’s the guy who drives the forklift and crane down at the shipping yard, he’s really pissing me off. What he does is he adjusts the height of the aluminium platform just to annoy the heck out of me. He’s knows I’m too short to reach up there so that’s why he always raises the height. He reckons it’s cos he can’t reach it with the arm of his crane but that’s all crap if you ask me. He’s got it out for me this guy. It could have something to do with the hot new wharfie who started up the other week. I took her out for e bevvo after our shift a few Fridays ago and then later learned that she was his sister! He wasn’t too happy about that.

I’m thinking of just getting some new work platforms that are the right height for me, ones that you can’t adjust. Our boss said we’ve got some extra money in the budget to get more equipment and that. I’m going to get the new aluminum ladders and platforms approved while there’s still money in there, before old mate has time to apply for additions to his crane. The old sod’s going to get a nice surprise when he finds there’s no money left to get his gear stick fixed or his forklift services. Let him suffer, I say.