Dude rocks. Sheetrocks, that is. If you’re unfamiliar with actual men, this is how they behave. They learn by watching and then doing, and then they show others. They take pride in even mundane chores. They are physically fit from useful activity, not going to the gym. They are no-nonsense.
I must have seen a million pictures of the offices where the Internet’s giant companies keep their minions. Keeriste, grow up. They’re all filled with playpens and ball crawls and juice bars and romper rooms. They’re smeared with dreadful primary colors and spangled with motivational posters that wouldn’t motivate a tweeker to shimmy.
I can safely say that this kid works longer and harder than I ever will. Mostly because I’m utterly useless, but that doesn’t change the fact that this kid is more of a man than I will ever be. This video is about as old as the Intertunnel itself, so there’s a good chance that the kid is now old enough to light his own cigarettes and open beer bottles with his newly-formed front teeth. I hope he got a promotion, because he’ll have spent half his life working the same job by the time he’s 10.
I don’t know if I could ever work in an office building. Being that close to people gives me hives, and I’m deathly allergic to work. It all seems a bit grim, which is why I have a lot of respect for my friends who work regular jobs for regular hours. Waking up each morning is enough of a chore without having to be somewhere before noon. It takes me well over an hour to wake up and get about halfway down the stairs. I have one friend in particular who’s always been very good about working, and showing up on time, and willingly participating in everything else that I abhor.
Have you ever looked at all the things around you and wondered: how did I manage to collect all of this crap? Who made this crap, and why? The sheer amount of objects we own is preposterous once you look at them individually. Somebody had to come up with all of this crap, design it, get the materials, make the crap, box it, send it out, receive it, store it, sell it by the truckload to a retailer, send it to the retailer, receive it again, store the crap again, put it on a shelf for a year until you come along, and then sell it to you for a couple bucks. Keep in mind that everything that you own or have ever touched has gone through that same process. That’s pretty cool, if I do say so myself. You don’t have to hew all of your furniture out of solid oak logs whenever you need a new dinette set. You simply go down to the store and buy one.
It’s the same process with food and other consumable items, which is completely mind-blowing for me. Let’s say you want a carrot. Well, the carrot is planted, fertilized, tended to, harvested, thrown on to the back of a flat-bed truck, brought to sorting facility, packaged, sent out to distributors, and sold to you, passing though the hands of over a dozen people on its way to your home. Then you take one of the carrots out of the package, rinse it off, dry it off, and then drop it onto your dirty kitchen floor — now it’s ruined.