Two weeks off at the college before the summer session starts. Which means I am in full-on glorified janitor mode - at ramming speed.
The aftermath of each semester always amazes me. Here we have classes, well actually just the ceramics classes, that consist mostly of retired little old ladies. How is it possible for all of these sweet little old biddies to be... such enormous fucking slobs? I mean, they are like trailer trash messy, alcoholic fratboy messy, bad American tourist messy.
Shit left everywhere. Clay splashed on walls like they had a spastic shit fit, on spin cycle. Rotting food in lockers. Unknown suspect liquids spilled and left hidden under towels and newspapers that you need a scraper to remove. Wadded up tissues containing who knows what hidden surprises left in corners of lockers or behind counters. And that's the obvious stuff. Fuck!
Not only are they messy, but they break shit. That's the truly amazing thing to me.
Here I am, proud descendent of Cro-Magnon mammoth hunters, possessed of the upper body strength of a chimpanzee, with hands and fingers capable of snapping the necks of pro-wrestlers like dried twigs... and I would need to wield a four pound sledge to break the things these frail old biddies break regularly.
How the fuck do they do that?
And then there are my crybaby-generation student aides. It doesn't matter that I lead by example. That I dive right into the shit jobs. Oh, they start off a task readily enough. In fact, I admire their initiative. They recognize what needs to be done. They start in on it, and without complaint. They require minimal supervision. But they lack stamina. After only a few hours, the work pace slackens, and the whining starts. I thought my generation was supposed to be the spoiled one? Uncle John the old fuck ain't quitting. What's your excuse?
Oh, shit, am I whining? Fuck me, but I am.
Alrighty. Enough talkie-talk. Back to workie-work.