Factory Folk

The potato factory is home to the biggest miss mash (har har) of people you have every seen. 

The outside break area has a number of tables and each is home to a certain group that make up the factory folk. Think of Mean Girls or any other American teen movie when you enter into the lunch room and the narrator introduces you to a whole lot of stereotypical groups (the jocks, the cheerleaders, the nerds, the alternative kids, the cool asians etc). My lunchroom tables looks a little something like this. 

Table 1 belongs to ‘the Leatherfaces':
This pack of ladies carry 40 pack cigarettes and during lunch are never caught without a ciggie dangling from their pursed, wrinkled lips. They have all been at the factory forever, are generally caked in make up and the average age is 50 - 65 . But judging from the number of ciggies they smoke they are all probably more around 40.

Table 2 belongs to ‘the Italians’:
This lot are all backpackers, smoke rolled up cigarettes, always talk like something very exciting/bad/sexy is happening and look somewhat cooler despite donning hairnets like the rest of us. 

'Sup

Table 3 belongs to ‘the Indians’:
This table is composed of a sweet, oldish, slightly miserable looking couple who always have the most professional looking lunch. Their lunchbox is a sort of long, round cooler box where you take off the lid and out pops 3 bowl type things filled with yummy indian food. Gaaaaad I am sucker for awesome tupperware.

Table 4 belongs to ‘the Bogans’:
This lot speak at least 4 levels louder than what is deemed acceptable, they wear wifebeaters even though they are not regulation, they are definitely missing a few teeth (and/or braincells) and their diet usually includes iced coffee, sausage rolls and/or steak pies.

Table 5 belongs to ‘the Cool Backpackers’:
These kids are all from my backpackers and have been around for a good few months so are all old mates. They like 2 minute noodles and wear beanies because there are too cool for hairnets.

Table 6 belongs to ‘the other Backpackers’:
We are pretty much table 5 but a few months behind. I already have my beanie ready and waiting in my locker.

Table 7 belongs to ‘the other Australians’:
I never really noticed this table until yesterday when a golden ray of light shone down, the world turned to slow motion and I saw something a little like this…

Why hello there!

There are also a number of stand out characters in the factory. My supervisor is rather nice and, confusingly, a bit attractive despite his backwards cap, red beard and um leg tattoo. I have named him the ginger beard man. Beards are a bit hot right now right?

Then there is a lady with silver hair and a slightly manly demeanour who knows everyone, is super jolly ALL the time and is always very caring of others. But when she opens her mouth and bares her teeth its like…

Da da da da da da...da.....da......dum.

 Mixed with a little...

Reeeek Reeeek Reeeek

And I am pretty sure this is what my face looks like...

Right, so you know in Home Improvement there is that neighbour, Wilson, and you never see his face...well we have one of those at the factory! The 'woman with the pink gloves' has been spotted several times in pre-pack as these stations have a blue curtain over the waste conveyor belt so you can't see who is on the other side. When the break gong rings, she always removes her gloves and disappears like a freaking ninja so no one knows who she is. The mystery of the lady with the pink gloves continues...

Oh Wilson!

I have also worked a couple of days in a different warehouse called the ‘seed shed’ which is massive but only has 5 people working in it. Anyway there is this old fork lift driver who is verrrrry Aussie who neither me nor my friend Tanja can actually understand. He is prickly looking, pot bellied and bought us chocolate (yay!) but then told us not to mention it to the supervisor (yikes!).

So the main area where I usually work is called ‘D Main’ which is usually where A grade potatoes are graded. This is made up of 4 stations usually with 2 people at each station. Further down is ‘Pre-Pack’ which is pretty bitchy and the Indian girls get all angry if you steal their spot. This area is made up of several stations usually with 4 - 6 people per station. Then running down the middle of the factory is the potato conveyor belt super highway. 

And on the other side of this are several more stations where the cocktail potato grading takes place. Located in this area is what I have dubbed the ‘Asian mafia’. I have befriended an old, spectacled, Malaysian lady who is so small she needs a step and several mats to reach the table. She knows everything and seems to be their pint-sized ring leader without quite knowing it. She has told me all about the Filipino lady with the steel grey (creepy as hell) eyes that is the biggest gossip in the factory and the girl with the drawn on eyebrows (also well creepy) who simply cannot be trusted. These girls and the mean Indians all lunch in a different area which I have been to a couple of times to catch up on factory politics. Me? A gossip? Neeeever.

Anyway I better enjoy my one day off! Gots me another 12 hours shift tomorrow. WAHOO.

Oh Just Grade!

So yesterday I handed in my geeee-orgeous orange ‘training’ vest for a nice new, luminous yellow, ‘official’ high vis vest. Ladies and gentlemen, I have gone pro. And promptly after receiving my new vest and getting stuck into some aggressive potato grading, my supervisor came up next to me and grabbed one of my rejects that was headed down the downgrade shoot. He held up the potato and there was, ummm, nothing wrong with it. 

It was an honest mistake! Human error and all that jazz. But seriously, sometimes I feel like an octopus with a million arms hurtling fecking potatoes up to the waste conveyor belt and down the downgrade shoot. And those spuds come rolling along so damn fast and I am all like…

I swear to god sometimes I literally blackout for an entire hour, having day-dreamed an entire music video (think that OK GO music video with treadmills) using the super highway of potato conveyer belts that are in the centre of the factory only to come to, dumbfounded at what a robot at I am and a little concerned about how many green potatoes I have let slide. 

But it’s like my friend Will says: ‘Minimum Wage, Minimum Care’. That said, the freaking Herschel girl in me hates being a failure, even it is grading potatoes.

This saying as well as a few others reeeeally get me through the day. 

“This is an investment in my future”
Yes I am giving myself the opportunity to stay an extra year which is grand but at 16 bleeding dollars an hour I think it is safe to say I will not be investing anything from a monetary perspective.

“I am not here for a long time, I am here for a good time”
I wouldn't classify working 15 hours as a good time, but that’s just me…

“Keep your head up”
Impossible. Your head literally has to be down when grading potatoes. Ben Howard has clearly never worked in a potato factory. 

"This experience is character building"
Yes I am now all humble and shit.

But every day, without fail, this one pops into my mind. At least 5...or 10 times.

And after 10 hours into a 15 hour shift...

More potato tales soon!

xx

The Potato Factory

So on Monday I started work in a potato factory. Yes you heard me, a potato factory. I was advised that I would be working around 3 days a week for around 10 hours. Well, this week I worked Monday to Friday and well over 40 hours. And I am hurting in places I never knew could hurt. Wow. Good news is that I made well over $9, now earning a delightful *cough* $16 an hour. 

I started with a bunch of new people all staying at my backpackers, so the horror of it all was a little diluted. The first 3 days were 'training days' with lots of informational DVDs as well as a lot of hands on experience with an allocated trainer. We started at 8 and ended between 16:30 and 17:30 which is pretty intense as you are standing all day long. On Thursday I spent the day in the 'seed shed' where all potatoes go to die but more on that soon. Oh and then friday came along where I woke up at 3:30am, left for work at 4am, started at 5am and finished at 5pm. Yes ladies and gentleman, 12 entire goddamn hours sorting millions of goddamn potatoes. I actually took a photo of myself after day 5 but it is too harrowing to put up and it would no doubt go viral within hours, especially as I am wearing a hair net. A freaking HAIR NET. 

So here are a few things to avoid whilst training as a potato grader:

1. When you find one that looks like a love heart, don't flutter your eyelids, smile and pass it over to your New Guinean(?) trainer.

2. When you find one that looks like an actual heart, don't hold it up high and scream 'it's ALIIIIIVE'
3. When you find a potato cut into 2, don't clap the pieces together and pretend the potato is talking like Canadians in South Park. (Jokes totally do that one because it is hilarious)
4. When you find one that looks like this one, try and keep it together...

To summarise my wealth of potato knowledge; there are A - F grade potatoes and at each station there are charts showing the % allowance of all major and minor defects depending on the grade. Malformation, spot rot, lenticel, rhizotonia, scratches, stains, bruises, green potatoes, cut up potatoes. Yep, potatoes have a lot of freaking issues.

Moral of the story is y'all need to appreciate your next sack of potatoes because they are all perfect because someone has thrown out the tonne of rubbish potatoes that haven't quite made the cut. 

More smashing tales from the potato world soon. FML.

The Journey Begins

Last Wednesday I began my 88 days of “seasonal work” so to attain a 2nd year visa to stay in Australia. Apparently I do not have any of the “highly skilled” skills you need to get in here long term and I didn’t really want to chance a potential to get sponsored, in case…well…I didn’t. So I have signed up to 3 months of gruelling hard labour in the hopes of securing an extra year of fun in the sun. Boom.

That said, I am busy sitting on the top bunk of my bunk bed (yes bunk bed!) (yes I am 29 years old!) and it is pouring with rain outside. 

Ermagherd, I just spotted a cobweb by the window. Wait, waaaaait, I just spotted the devil who created the heathen web of evil. It’s a really small spider, it’s loitering by the light, just tried to take a photo, eeeep, it’s heading my way. Trying to ascertain if its back is red, those are the bad ones right? Phew it’s kinda brown with like orange legs, that’s sweet hey? Phil has retreated, crisis averted. 

I digress. So last wednesday I began the start of my 88 days in a small farm town in South Australia (aka bumfuck nowhere). I wanted to give all of those embarking on their season with some great ‘how to’ advice on how to nail down a job but well my brother-in-law knew a guy and the rest is history. We drove up a few days earlier to meet the farmer and suss the details of the job. We also hoped to check out the backpackers before moving in but the landlord wasn’t around so we flagged it. Ooooh what a error in retrospect. 

I arrived first thing to a dark, dank house, the outside littered with bottles, butts, mildew-ridden towels and derelict sofas. YUM. The inside was not much better with bottles again littered around the place, a floor that had perhaps never been cleaned, dirty dishes piled a metre high and a crusty grandma carpet so unholy I swear I could feel it move under my feet. I left my bags and legged it outta there, praying that this was not the only house belonging to the backpackers.

I was dropped off on the strawberry farm, bid adieu to my brother in law and waited to be collected by the new boss. First day jitters for strawberry picking? Who’d have thunk? He arrived and off we hurtled to the farm in his bakkie (ute round these parts). There he taught me the right strawberry picking technique, it’s all in the wrist action you see (cue inappropriate laughter and disturbed look from Bulgarian boss man). He also taught me what kind of strawberry is deemed acceptable; be wary of ‘white shoulders’ and diseased/bitten strawberries.  He also showed me how to operate the strawberry picking bike/cart contraption. Basically you start at the top of the field with two stretches of strawberry patches and manoeuvre said contraption and pick strawberries on either side till you reach the bottom. You then park and take your wee basket and pick the strawberries on the other side of the 2 patches. That’s the real killer right there.  Here is a pic to help illustrate...

You know that scene in 500 Hundred Days of Summer when he goes to her birthday party and they have a split screen with the reality and his expectation and, well, the reality doesn’t end up being anything his outlandish expectation. He expected a romantic rooftop reunion and she ends up being engaged to another man. And you (and Joseph Gordon-Levitt) are just like WHAT THE HECK? Well my expectation of strawberry picking went a little something like this. Imagine if you will…Cider House Rules (sans disturbing hillside romp) meets a Walk in the Clouds meets the Sound of Music except I am Maria and instead of being on a hillside in Austria I am in field in Australia frolicking amongst the strawberries. Strawberries are also the cutest fruit of all time so how bad will this really be? Right? Riiiiight?

Cue the shattering of dreams. Well to be fair the farm was beautiful, my boss was really awesome and my co-workers very friendly. But the work was back-breaking, trying to straighten up after picking a row of strawberries was excruciating (hey there oooold timer). The real corker was getting back to the shed after thinking that I had done pretty well, only to find out I had made a whopping $8.56. EIGHT DOLLARS FIFTY SIX. On top of that my boss said I did ‘lousy’ but that it was to be expected of my first day. After my soul being swiftly destroyed I began my hour long walk back to town where I even more swiftly spent $20 at the general store. 

I got home to the sad realisation that the aforementioned backpackers was indeed my home. AND cue further shattering of dreams. After further inspection it was worse than I could possibly imagine with no light in my bedroom, limited hot water and the bathroom - well that was the stuff of nightmares. The real deal breaker was my housemates giving me the option of the bed bugs bed or the other one. You can’t actually make this shit up. FOR REAL.

I slept in my hooded coat in my hooded sleeping bag and was all like...

And I woke up at 3am thinking my phone was vibrating….turns out it was a cow mooing outside my window. You can take the girl out of London…

I woke at 5:30 after finally dozing back to sleep at 5:25 to find a curly birds nest of a head of hair before me in the dirt smeared bathroom mirror. I went to bed with wet hair after being informed that the electricity would shut down if I try using a hair dryer. AWESOME. Especially if you are OCD about drying and straightening your hair daily - #firstworldissues I know! After whipping on my farm garb and devouring some porridge we began our hour long trek. Day 2 was an 8 hour day and the first few hours were fine; I picked up my picking pace and was loving the fresh country air but after 8 hours my back was in agony, all my free time to ponder life was making me want to cry and I started having a weird sort of animosity toward the cute fruit that I once loved. 

I had chats with my family the night before and did some research into another job and backpackers nearby and made the decision to tell my boss that I had to leave due to the state of the house (also due to the fact that I can’t really live on $9 - $30 a day). He was totally understanding about it and said that I wasn’t the only girl to only last a few days. Me turning on the waterworks may have also played a part in his ‘understanding’. I didn’t even force the tears, 3 hours of sleep in a feral house and 8hrs of hard labour can really take a toll on a girl. 

News Flash - I believe the Italian man in my room is mulling an illegal substance. Wow.

Anyway I got back to the backpackers, made some calls, had some 2 minute noodles (taking me back to 2003), had a luke warm shower, packed my shizzle and watched American Hustle on my computer in my bunk bed cave. I swear at one stage Jennifer Lawrence’s face began looking a little red and specked with black. Definitely a very long day.

Today I awoke feeling positive and like I had made the right decision. I may have also felt like a total diva and mildly ashamed of canning it after 2 short days. Woops. Well colour me Kim Kardashian, but I couldn’t live in those conditions okay!

My brother in law picked me up and off to Tanunda (also located in bumfuck nowhere) we went. This town is cute as heck and is also home to Jacob’s Creek Wine. My (moderately priced) wine of choice from Sainsburys in London. Ummmm don’t mind if I do!

The backpackers was paradise compared to the previous joint. So clean and big and light and conveniently located next to Chateau Tanunda - one of Australia’s oldest wineries. Yes please, now we are talking.

I have spent the day unpacking and settling in and watching Pitch Perfect. Totally productive no? I just made some soup for dins and got some serious first day of school anxiety as everyone seems to know each other and I am the strange new kid . Again, yes I am 29 years old. Wow. I took my 3 year old nephew to the park last week and he was scared of this big 4 year old but 2 minutes later he was climbing up some net thing and he was all like do you wanna be friends? I wish we could do that past the age of like 10 without it being weird. I miss my friends *sob* but hopefully I won’t be billy-no-mates for long. There there there.

Oh and now I am reading sad quotes on Pinterest about adventure and doing brave things and shit.  Here are of a few powerfully lame ones that are making me feel better...

aaaaand...

Right I am going to bed. Keep tuned in for the next installment of life on the farm.

Good night xx