THE FORKIE PHILOSOPHER

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  • MUSINGS ON THE JOB ABOUT THE JOB: Moving on Up

    Smithers (over loudspeaker): Attention Homer Simpson. You have been promoted. You are now an executive. Take 3 minutes to say goodbye to your former friends and report to room 502 for reassignment…to a better life.

    Simpson and Delilah

    The Simpsons: Season 2, Episode 2

    My experience with workplace hierarchy kind of went in reverse. My first permanent job was in a small factory run by 2 brothers. I was hired for the purpose of learning how to run the warehouse. It was a small business with only two other employees there before me. Two blokes old enough to be my dad and very set in their ways. The bosses’ wives ran the reception and office. One more bloke came on after me and that was it.

    They sent me to TAFE to study supervising and management and somewhere in my 2nd year I slipped into the warehouse manager position. Up till then the older of the veterans (Nick) considered himself in charge and was my first look at two workplace archetypes I would come across all through my working life:

    1. The long-term worker who sees his years of service as a reason to do as little as possible.
    2. The unappointed ‘supervisor’ who sees this position as a reason to do as little as possible. I will never know if he just thought it made him look busy or if he genuinely believed it was important, but he would sit down and peruse the invoices 3 or 4 times a day! Just moving them from one pile to another.

    He wasn’t bossy or rude, just very stubborn. Me and the other guy followed his lead simply because he had been there the longest. I don’t recall any big announcement of me taking charge and I didn’t notice any friction; how would you? The 2 bosses couldn’t get Nick to change his ways, what chance did I have?

    I found the whole experience to be a frustrating and exhausting one! TAFE was interesting and I learned plenty of theory, yet not much of it translated to the real world. Eventually I would quit and move on to zero responsibility and lots of beer guzzling at the happy house of hazards. I was truly happy for a while there too.

    That was around 25 years ago, and I have not taken a leadership role since. I have seen the whole gamut of supervisors, managers and higher ups. Not too high of course, you can see so much from the bottom. I am fascinated by the antics of these individuals and even more intrigued about their motives and expectations regarding taking the job.

    Way too many were variations on Nick from my first job. Being the ‘supervisor’ meant that you didn’t have to do much work. I was about to write ‘physical’ work, but these people don’t seem to exert much mental effort either.

    Singing Whale: Do you know what Headman really does?

    Gecko Lizard: He bosses people around.

    Singing Whale: No. He does what is best for the people.

    Gecko Lizard: By bossing them around.

    Singing Whale: Gecko Lizard! You really are dumb!

    “When the Man Went South” 2014

    I cannot remember the exact list of required duties for a supervisor (first line manager), but it was the first thing we learned at TAFE. Something akin to:

    Plan: Day to day or week to week at the most. The higher you move up the ladder the further ahead your planning will need to be.

    Organise: Putting the plan into action. Setting the schedule and delegating the tasks.

    Communication: Ensuring all our workers know what is expected of them and reporting back to management regarding performance, along with any issues or suggestions from the staff.

    A very simple formula, yet not an easy task. I reckon most people would be lacking in at least one of these aspects in general and when you start going deeper, the flaws will be exposed even more: Problem solving, time management, conflict resolution, decision-making, mentorship, interpersonal skills etc. That’s a lot to ask of someone who just wants to get out of doing manual labour.

    I do not believe that becoming a supervisor in a boring-ass, dead-end job was anyone’s goal as a kid. I’m sure some people take on the role with noble enough intentions; I am also sure that these people are the minority. The majority are either lazy, old, tired and/or carrying an injury, or a self-important wanker. It could be a mix of all these.

    I’ve seen all kinds: The guy who used to tell us all that he had worked for the company for 30 years as if it was a badge of honour and we should defer to him for this reason. When he realised people viewed his lack of upward mobility in that time as a fault, he became a supervisor. He didn’t make it to the next year. He was hopeless in pretty much all the required traits. He knew how to do the job on the floor fine, but that does not automatically translate to being a leader and it’s especially difficult when people openly mock you.

    I think people take moving up the ladder way too lightly; they only see the (very few) good points. You may get a pay rise, but that often comes with a lot of unpaid overtime and/or phone calls out of hours. In a lot of cases, you may escape the grunt work. However, you now are responsible for getting the grunts to be productive. All those different personalities and degrees of work ethic. For some people doing as little as possible is a matter of principle more than just laziness; it was for old Nick.

    Speaking of that place, I not only had to get my hands dirty, but I had to do extra work because wild horses couldn’t get Nick to move his ass and the bosses would not sack him. So, watch out for that pitfall too.

    I’ve got plenty more to say about this stuff so I will most certainly be coming back this way again soon.

  • WHEN I WAS YOUR AGE: Would You Like a Burger, a Burger, or a Burger

    Growing up as a kid in the 1970s, restaurant and take away food outlets were much less prevalent than our fast-food saturated cities of today. Hamburgers, sandwiches, fish and chips were the usual fair. In my suburb there were two hamburger shops: the famous Cobb & Co. drive in (Cobbo) and Boss’s fish and chip shop (the fish and greasies).

    The Cobbo had the delectable double cheeseburger; anyone who remembers, remembers it very fondly! The footlong hot dog was their signature dish, and for a lot of us they were our first encounter with chicken salt on chips; that glorious flavour we all loved but couldn’t get anywhere else. Their burgers were delicious and had a unique twist we often pondered and joked about. I was sure they used cabbage instead of lettuce, but I have no way of finding out.

    Boss had the classic take away shop. A Greek bloke who made burgers and fish and chips wrapped in the old butcher’s paper. I know newspaper was a big thing, but Boss used the plain white stuff. You would still hold the packet up and tear off the top, holding it under one arm while eating with the other and offering it to your mates. The ‘help yourself’ signal was opening it all the way on the table.

    He also offered the other take away staples: Pies, Chiko Rolls, battered savs (in Sydney), fried dim sims, steak sandwiches and scallops (potato). I’m sure he sold cooked chickens, but I don’t know if they were charcoal cooked or whatever else. It tasted good anyway.

    He had a sandwich counter, but I don’t remember many people buying any. I know I tried and wasn’t impressed with them. I even remember a sandwich shop opening a little further along the highway with nice food. Whenever I went there, I would sneak past Boss’s or walk the other way around. He even confronted me about this betrayal once; that was awkward.

    I’m pretty sure he made milk shakes, but you couldn’t beat Cobbo’s thick shakes. They also sold soft serve ice cream – awesome! Two shops selling very similar tucker, but we all knew the distinctions, and they would always influence our choice.

    “I feel like a Cobbo or a Greasy’s burger”

    “I want the Cobbo chips”

    I can’t recall anyone being so gauche as buying a combination of both.

    We also had a Milk Bar down near the train station. A strange hodge podge store. A very small selection of groceries on a couple of tall shelves squished to one side. Their main clientele was there for frozen ice creams/blocks, soft drinks, chocolates, cigarettes bubble or chewing gum and lollies: packets and the forever adored 1 cent lollies. You would choose from the cornucopia of confectionary in the boxes behind the glass and they would bag them up for you. A 20-cent bag was bloody huge; although there were a few high-end treats: Cobbers were 2 cents and things like giant snakes could go as high as 5 cents! Such opulence! You had to wight things up carefully. I have fond memories of dad walking down there with my sister and I on random evenings; a bag of mixed lollies, an ice cream and a soft drink – sugar rush!!!

    Of course, they also sold milkshakes, although I have few recollections of going in for one. They may or may not have sold sandwiches, but they definitely sold pies and sausage rolls; my mate and I used to buy one before going to soccer training. Our teammates were never impressed with our undisguised lack of enthusiasm.

    Sometime around starting high school a new hamburger shop opened in the next suburb. The big drawcard was “they put beetroot on the burger”; sensational! A third option in the hamburger stakes. The variety was mindboggling!

    McDonalds and Kentucky Fried Chicken (as we knew it) were only accessible by car, requiring a grown up. They were in the city though, which added extra joy to our train trips there; most often to go to the movies. That’s another nostalgic trip we’ll take later.

    Those few shops in our immediate area were our easiest options. There were different offerings if you managed to get an adult to drive or rode your bike, but we never felt starved of choice. For us it was a genuine smorgasbord with clear differences between establishments.

    These places were family run and were not 24-hour businesses. Some were even shut on Sunday! There were very few service stations like today with built in convenience stores; these seem to have replaced the corner shops and/or milk bars.

    Boring? I don’t remember it that way. Getting bored? Of course, now and then. It was all we knew though and we felt spoiled for choice.

  • CORPORATE CONFUSION: The Future Looks Bright, Just Not For Us

    The average worker never seems able to keep up with inflation. Prices go up a lot, while their wages only go up a little, if they’re lucky. The mega-rich are getting giga-rich, and the middle class is slowly vanishing. Who were the ‘middle class’?

    Those people who were well-off but did not consider themselves rich. The working class and poverty stricken thought they were, but they were all still at the whim of the economy. Small business owners, professionals and other white collar type jobs; and of course, those in the right trades and unions. In corporation terms you would have to be a few rungs up the ladder; middle management sounds about right!

    They had their mortgages paid, under-control or were trying their hand at investment property. They didn’t have to worry about basic bills and groceries, had a fair amount of disposable income and were basically comfortable. I’ll get into demographic and status competition in another post. For now, we’ll settle for a large chunk of people in the same boat as the working class, but they were up in the better seats; business and first class.

    A small percentage of those premium people managed to rise into the private jet elite, but most of them have found themselves squished back in economy with the rest of the plebs. Fighting for scraps of what the elites deem suitable to be tossed down. Watch ‘The Platform’ (2019) for a scathing allegory on this.

    The corporatisation of the world is slowly eroding the comfortable centre section of the income spectrum, and we all need to accept that this is the new norm for the foreseeable future. The way most of us earn a living is a fast changing (and getting faster) landscape, and it is getting harder and harder to predict what types of skills will be sellable in the future.

    Here’s a clunky idea: you know how energy cannot vanish (or something like that)? The same number of atoms always exist. Blow something up and they just disperse; they don’t cease to be. You may die but those subatomic particles that made up you never leave. Where was I? Oh yeah, money. The money (or numbers on the screen) is always there. It gets shifted around and never seems to be spread equally, but it is always there. It’s not a perfect fit as far as similes go, but it’ll have to do.

    Nowadays it seems that the top 1% have finally gotten their hooks into the flow of those cherished numbers. They have almost completely fixed the plumbing on that damn trickle-down economics bullshit.  Us working stiffs can only dream of those few drops that manage to get past the damn. Chances of getting on the soggy side are slim to none. Best we can do is prevent destitution – cheery stuff ay?

    Climbing the corporate ladder high enough to get yourself a good enough nest egg for if/when the rug gets pulled out from under you. Making it in showbiz somehow, although that seems to be providing ever more diminishing returns for the actual artists than ever before. Most of us already know our chances at sporting glory are long gone, if they ever were at all. Those tradies will still be in demand for a while yet, but the haven of the strong union jobs for slobs are drying up fast. That’s about all the options for an honest pleb. The days are numbered for the unskilled workers and which ‘skills’ will be replaced by computers and machines is getting harder to predict.

    The other positive outcomes are mere fantasies: win the lottery, some rich person leaves you a shit load, go viral on the internet AND figure out how to capitalize on it before it fades. Buy a dusty old record in an op shop and learn it’s worth a motza! Slip on a trail in the Blue Mountains and dislodge a large rock to reveal a nugget bigger than The Welcome Stranger! Stumble on a shootout in the middle of nowhere and everyone is dead; millions in cash and drugs sitting around in leather bags…Not happening.

    The concept of ‘clocking on’ and getting paid by the hour to do stuff is eroding relentlessly. AI may not be literally intelligent at present, but it can already replicate many of the basic decisions needed to run a profitable business. The more it learns, and it learns at incredible speed, the more it will be able to factor in the complicated variables and contingencies required for the more specialised professions.

    AI has already infiltrated into the other wonder of our consciousness and higher reasoning – art. It can create images and videos of startling complexity. It can write passable letters and stories; if you can convince the reader that you have poor grammar skills your AI stuff may very well be accepted. This will of course improve exponentially and there will eventually be no need to pay someone for this crucial piece of our humanity.

    Shit! Once the machines figure out how to replicate the opposable thumb, humans may be truly obsolete in the world of business. The elite may choose to pay a human orchestra to play something AI can already do perfectly, just for the novelty of having flesh and blood musicians perform. Fucken hell! Holograms and a digital maestro would be able to infuse different ‘emotion’ into any chosen performance.

    Let’s avoid the computers wiping us out scenario for now. Instead, we’ll go with universal basic income and a world of comfort and ease: Everyone has a clean and safe place to live, enough to eat and nothing but spare time. Your limitless entertainment is all provided and free; all created by AI of course.

    I suppose art would still exist as a hobby and I can’t imagine people would not still want to compete in sport and games. Gardening would be a niche past time in the same vein as having an aquarium – purely for display.

    Yet again I have tumbled down a warren I was not planning on. I wonder if AI will have such whimsical tendencies. Either way I can’t dispel the sinister feeling that this utopian life of leisure would be spirit crushing.

  • POTENTIAL DEATH OR SERIOUS INJURY: True Stories #20

    Plenty of alcohol and pot had been consumed that night. Danny, Tommy, Neil, Susan, Lindy and I where all out in Neil’s granny flat getting wasted on a Saturday evening. I don’t know where the trips (LSD) had come from but we had all popped one and they where well and truly messing with our brains by this point.

    We were all laughing and goofing off; just enjoying the mind bending effects of the acid. I don’t know exactly how it started, but I can recall Danny standing in front of me as I sat on the couch. I think we were exchanging friendly insults and Danny decided to get physical. He shoved me and I fell back into the chair. I then watched as Neil, who was seated on the other couch behind Danny, leaned over and grabbed Danny by the ankles. In one swift movement he pulled Danny’s legs out from under him. Danny fell forward onto me and a wrestling match then ensued.

    Tommy decided to join in and he began grappling with Neil. It seemed to be unofficially Neil and me versus Danny and Tommy. I remember that we were all laughing our heads off as this was taking place. The alcohol, pot and acid had combined to make this whole scenario seem totally surreal. There was no malice in our actions we were genuinely enjoying ourselves.

    The girls on the other hand were not happy and they were calling for us to stop. There was no way that was going to happen in the near future; we were having too much fun.

    At one stage I ended up behind Danny and I applied a Full Nelson hold. This meant I had his arms wrapped up behind his head. This move is very difficult to escape from using strength alone. Danny was in no mood to surrender so he planted his feet and pushed off backwards. We both fell fast onto one of the couches and my head slammed into the wall.

    The Full Nelson had been broken and Danny climbed off of me. We were both laughing heartily at this point. As Danny turned to look at me he quickly stopped laughing. Neil and Tommy ceased their tussle and both stood staring at me with mouths agape. Susan and Lindy quickly joined the gawking group.

    I was lying back on the couch still giggling my head off. As the shock in everyone’s faces began to sink in my laughter stopped. I realised they were looking just a little behind me rather than directly at me. I felt as if I was in real danger, so I moved very slowly. I cautiously got up off the couch and turned to look at what was holding everyone’s focus.

    There was a small hole in the wall where my head had slammed into the Gyprock. That wasn’t the shocking part. Just millimetres above the hole, a power socket jutted out of the wall; a rectangular cube protruding out of the wall ready to split any melon that slammed into it. My head had smashed into the wall missing the corner of that power socket by the width of a bee’s dick! My head would have been cracked right open had I landed that tiny bit more up or to the left.

    I don’t know how long we stared at the evidence of miraculous luck, but it seemed like a while. Acid has a way of distorting time along with your other senses.

    This is another time where my memory seems to freeze. I don’t remember what happened after that moment. It is as if the video tape goes black after the incident is played out. I do remember that later in the night Danny Tommy, Susan and Lindy went out to the Cross. Neil and I didn’t have any IDs and we were too young looking (I was 17 and Neil was 15) to attempt getting into a club without one.

    So it seems that we eventually recovered from our shock and continued on our merry way of brain cell destruction for a few hours more.

    Thinking back I still feel immensely fortunate to have missed the skull smashing power socket. It is humbling to think how lives can be changed by the matter of a mere millimetre or two.

  • SOMEONE NEEDS TO SHOOT THIS GUN HAPPY PSYCHO: Movie Musings #10

    ***Spoiler Alert***

    Wow! What a brain twister! The mental gymnastics in this one are fantastic! Yet through brilliant storytelling sleight of hand, I think it holds, by the skin of its teeth, but it holds.

    Dirty Harry is back with his trusty .44 Magnum: ready and willing to put large calibre holes into anyone foolish enough to draw on him. Remember that detail because it is important.

    This time Harry has to track down a psychopathic vigilante who is gunning down bad guys in cold blood. Don’t laugh! This lunatic has elected themselves judge, jury and executioner. It’s not funny! You can’t just go around shooting known murderers because you reckon the world would be better off without them. Stop fucken laughing!

    I see what has you so amused. Yes, Harry has been known to kill more than his fair share of villains. The difference is, if you watch the movie closely, Harry only ever mows down in self-defence or to save an innocent civilian. It’s a (paper) thin line, but he never crosses it. Not on camera anyway. He also never kills or maims any bystanders for that matter. It’s truly uncanny!

    Harry believes in the system. He’s a cop and a cop’s job is to capture the bad guys and gather evidence. After that it’s in the hands of the justice system. It’s only a coincidence that Harry always seems to arrive while a violent crime is in progress. What else can a good cop do other than charge in? Once he’s involved it’s not Harry’s fault if a gun wielding suspect draws on him or one of his colleagues or a civilian – Blam, Blam, Blam! Problem solved.

    Saves a lot of time and expense on incarceration and court proceedings. It’s just dumb luck that Harry doesn’t need to waste time going to court and all that bullshit. Harry gets to avoid the bitter frustration of someone he caught walking free. Not in this movie anyway. In this story he is much more pragmatic regarding the loopholes and flaws in the legal process.

    The assassin not only kills unarmed evildoers, but they also don’t have a problem with making Swiss cheese out of anyone unfortunate enough to be hanging out with the target. An entire fucken pool party in one instance! Talk about overkill.

    Harry meets a tight knit group of rookie traffic cops who take their firearms training very seriously and he is most impressed. The force needs guys who can put bullets into vital areas on hoodlums. That’s what good policing is all about.

    However, soon Harry begins to surmise that these gung-ho motorcycle cops are getting a little ahead of themselves when it comes to administering the law.

    There’s a great scene where the undefeated SFPD shooting competition champion Harry ends up in a tie breaker with the rookie crew’s best guy. Harry chooses ‘combat’ which involves one of those layouts with the façade buildings like a film set. Targets randomly pop out; some are armed thugs, some are civilians and some are cops. The young buck gets a perfect score. Harry is on the same track, but loses when he shoots the final target by mistake – a cop. See what they did there?

    Anyway, Harry gets his proof and even uncovers some higher ups that are involved in this death squad setup. Of course, he won’t have to prove anything in a court of law because the baddies all make the fatal mistake of trying to take him out. Problem solved.

    I’ve seen this movie many times since I was a kid and this latest viewing was the first time I really noticed the paradox. I find it fascinating that we all (as far as I know) accepted that Harry had the moral high ground simply because he didn’t fuck up and kill the wrong person. It would be a very different movie indeed if Harry took out a few passengers on that plane for example:

    Harry walks onto a plane during an armed hostage situation and after a little subterfuge, he beats the shit out of one terrorist and uses that guys gun to shoot the other one; through a wall, mind you. Harry demonstrates his concern for bystander safety by barking “sit down!” to the annoying passengers who are panicking and not behaving properly. That seems to be the minimum duty of care for having gunfights in public places.

    In this particular cinematic universe Harry’s halo holds. He saved the day and punished the wrongdoers. If the movie had Harry arrest the terrorists and then flash forward to them mocking him as they walk free from court, things obviously change. If Harry tracks them down and shoots them dead while they are eating McDonalds, we have might have a problem.

    In Harry’s world though, the terrorists would undoubtably see him coming and draw their guns, maybe even take a hostage for extra tension. We are so easily duped by good storytelling.

    I love movies and I love stories in general, but when you immerse yourself in any artform you cannot avoid seeing the man behind the curtain pulling the strings now and then. Funnily, it doesn’t take away from the enjoyment, in some ways it deepens my awe. It also has the added benefit of giving the next generation of storytellers a cliché that can be used as misdirection. Awesome!

  • BARBARIANS AT THE GATE: Rise of the Tycoons #17

    Conquering nearby tribes was not always a means of expansion alone. Sometimes it was necessary to eliminate hostile neighbours. Those boorish savages could be rather nasty sometimes. They might attack any unwary citizen who stumbles into their region, and they would most certainly be stealing shit from the wealthy empire every chance they got.

    Stealth would be the ideal method to prevent being caught and crushed. Of course, if you’re clever you would raid villages that had a few tribes between them and yours. Either way it’s a dangerous and foolish game, but all that surplus was just irresistible! Plus, those imperial fuckers will eventually be coming for us anyway, so screw ‘em! Part opportunism, part bravado and defiance.

    Now if you keep on the move…You know? A hunter/gatherer/stealer type tribe. Just another form of gathering really. I wonder if anyone who got caught tried using that excuse. A gang of thieves or a fair dinkum H&G tribe that sends out raiders when the opportunity arises; it could work. Life expectancy wasn’t that great anyway really, so the life of a guerilla thief at least kept things interesting.

    In the end, unless your tribe relocated a good distance, there was one of two outcomes: You got swallowed up, or you were fortunate enough to see the collapse of an empire and maybe get to lay a few boots in for good measure and go rummaging through the ruins for booty. You may get to live through an empire free decade or more. Eventually another will take its place of course.

    Another alternative might be the barbarians themselves mobbing up and becoming a force to be reckoned with. A group of nomads like the Huns who kicked ass and conquered. They weren’t your run of the mill raid and run barbarians. They fucken steamrolled and smashed anyone in their path. They scared the shit out of Europe and created an empire of their own, although not a long lived one in relative terms. They burned bright and burned out.

    Eventually we come to those infamous Scandinavians; or more specifically the groups that decided to make raiding their forte. A combination of seafaring mastery and ruthless violence led to these guys being the bane of anyone they decided to visit. While they did have ‘trader’ on their resume, their specialty was first and foremost pillaging.

    The Vikings were a formidable plundering force! They could travel great distances by water and strike with such ferocity that most of their victims could scarcely mount any kind of defence. They would then make a hasty escape with the booty, off beyond the horizon.

    Few mariners had the skill or guts to follow and the few that did would not have been in a hurry to catch up with a longship filled with bloodthirsty nutters. The idea of landing on a Viking shore and attempting a retaliatory strike would be even less appealing, I’m sure.

    These lunatics believed they wouldn’t get into Valhalla unless they died in battle. Fucking hell! I often used to ponder the fine print of this dogma. Must it be a ‘glorious’ death?

    What if you slipped and fell off a cliff?

    What if you were getting old and tired and decided to do death by foe?

    What if you panicked and got killed while you were running away?

    Is falling overboard during the voyage covered?

    What about getting killed during training or a fight in your own village?

    Or just getting outright murdered out of the blue?

    I suspect the stern answer to these would be no, tough shit! I’m not sure if the alternative was hellfire or nothingness, but I reckon it would get a little freaky spending eternity with a bunch of people who spent their lives trying to get killed, who are now immortal.

    The Viking scourge was a unique entity and maybe not an empire per se. However, they would fade like all the rest. They seem to have gone the way of an aging corporation that became a shadow of its former self. They were once savage competitors who never took a backward step; always hustling and striving; disapproving comfort and resting on laurels.

    Eventually the spoils of conquest would spoil the younger generation and they would go soft. The blood and guts old guard would complain about ‘the youth of today’ and how rampant attack had simmered down to defence. They start to settle down. Farming and family begin to dominate the culture, and the trade of Viking becomes an illustrious bunch of stories. Christianity would replace Norse mythology and help speed up the tenderisation process. They would evolve and re-conquer the world (markets) with plastic building blocks and affordable home furnishings.

    Many more empires would rise and fall. The Mongols would rise to raise hell centuries later. These barbarian hordes eerily resemble the cliché of the little guy battling the big guys – winning – and then becoming the new big guys – and then dissipate, or more appropriate become assimilated into the new cultural organism.

    We can all trace our ancestry back to one empire or another. All except for the ones whose forebears managed to get oceans between themselves and the human swarm. These people would remain blissfully unaware of the plague of progress until the rise of maritime mastery and competition. The new empires were no longer land locked and expansion could continue around the globe. The age of colonisation was about to begin.

  • WE NEED TO DIG A LITTLE DEEPER: A Believer, A Non-Believer and A Fence-Sitter Walk into a Bar.

    In terms of the way we behave and interact with each other, religion cannot be ruled out. It plays a role in almost everyone’s life whether they consider themselves religious or not. In its simplest form it appears to be a three-way split: Religious, Atheist or agnostic, so I suppose I’ll attempt to break it down that way. Starting with religion I’ll have to narrow it down a little more; this looks like it will be an ongoing thread.

    So, why does it even matter?

    I did touch on it briefly a while back, but that was just an entrée… maybe just an hors d’oeuvre. Keeping it non-specific for the time being, I will expand on that concept: How a person makes sense of the world has a huge impact on how they behave and treat others. We do not need to get into specific religions just yet to explain how influential a person’s ingrained beliefs are on them.

    You may say you are not religious, but it is almost certain you were raised to believe in something: a certain religious denomination, pure science, some ancient or new wave spirituality practice, one of the ‘isms’ or the Jedi. It doesn’t matter what it was, the stuff the grown-ups implant when you’re a kid has an effect on your mind. Accept it, reject it or really examine it and choose the bits that work for you; either way it is deep in your psyche.

    Santa Clause as most of us are taught is a mythological character who embodies generosity and kindness. The Boogey Man is the bad things that will get you if you go wandering off alone at night. We all swear we don’t ‘believe’ in that shit, but I am betting that if you grew up with it you can vividly remember the feelings: the joy and excitement of Christmas; the fear of things that go bump in the night.

    If you grew up with Santa, you certainly feel differently towards the 25th of December; Jesus or not this is meant to be a time of happiness and giving. You may hate it for that very reason, but it does influence you some way.

    It is not the same detached feeling an Anglo might feel during Ramadan or Diwali. If you live in a major city, you will at the very least know it is going on. Most will know people who are observing these acts of worship. You may be interested; you may participate as a guest, but you will never ‘feel’ it the way a person who grew up with it does.

    Once again, this person may refuse to participate and tell you they do not believe in that shit, but they cannot be disconnected in the way an outsider is.

    Are you religious?

    Yeah, I’m Catholic.

    Are you a practicing Catholic?

    Sort of, I don’t eat meat on Good Friday.

    When was the last time you went to church?

    My cousins’ wedding.

    I’m seeing a pattern here. When was the last time you gave a confessional and partook of the holy bread and wine.

    No idea.

    So that’s a no. Hardly a true believer here.

    Almost all religions have non-practicing types. Almost all these people still adhere to all sorts of dogma without even thinking about it. Others suddenly become pious when the shit hits the fan. Many simply comfort themselves with their faith to absolve themselves of a wrongdoing. “That guy wasn’t Christian or Muslim or whatever faith WE are, so it doesn’t count.”

    Your victim is of the same faith? No problem. They’re probably of a different denomination or branch. Shit man, if things keep lining up, just point out the differing nationality or something. “All I’m trying to say is that I would never do such a thing to myself or my loved ones (maybe).”

    The whole “our religion will take over the world” concept seems utterly absurd to me. Christianity is split three-ways and then a thousand:

    Catholic or Orthodox or God only knows how many Protestant denominations there are. Google Christian religions to see just how many variations on the theme there are. The protestant movement kicked off as a rebellion (or ‘protest’) of the Catholic church’s interpretation and monetisation of the Bible and exploded into innumerable unique versions regarding the ‘real’ message in the Good Book. Especially in the US where individualism really took off!

    As an outsider it seems that Islam has less ‘protestant’ type branches outside of Sunni and Shi’a. Probably has something to do with the violent consequences of dissent I would guess. I have no doubt there are still countless disagreements regarding the ‘Truth’ among the faithful.

    Add to these discrepancies the fierce ethnic enmity in the Middle East and it is hard to imagine a harmonious amalgamation. That’s before you even start with the African and other Asian Muslims, along with the people who converted from other faiths. Don’t try and tell me there won’t be a pecking order after this world domination is achieved.

    Even when we follow the same Holy Text we cannot agree. I suspect that it is a human quirk to tweak all rulesets when it suits our needs. It is also human to deny such a frailty.

    I seem to have gone off track again. Sometimes that’s where you find the treasure. Maybe not this time ay?. I’ll certainly be coming back around these parts again soon. I’ll leave with what I was thinking when I started this post, but never got around to mentioning:

    Rather than finding out ‘what’ religion a person follows, we may understand more by finding out ‘how religious’ that person is. “How strictly do you adhere to your creed?” There’s another post in the making right there!

  • MUSINGS ON THE JOB ABOUT THE JOB: A Bit of Monkey Business

    I think it’s time to revisit that paragon of sobriety and workplace safety I survived all those years ago. Not only did I survive, but I learned to drive a forklift in that madhouse! Talk about a trial by fire! It was akin to having an L plate driver on an obstacle course in the middle of a kangaroo park after a gun went off. They would probably have to be impaired by performance reducing drugs as well to get the true flavour.

    Those forklifts were diesel too. I remember my cousin showing me how to fill them up from the barrel with a rotating hand pump; a cigarette hanging from his mouth the whole time.

    Today’s episode was yet another result of having a full crew of casual workers. When things got quiet the hours got cut. Monday, Tuesday and Friday were usually on, but the other two could go down to 4 hours or be cut altogether depending on volumes. Only the chosen few got to work Saturday morning and get those sweet overtime rates.

    It had been a lean few weeks and with the added free time instigating more drinking our wallets were getting rather light. So, when the boss offered us a couple days of random work we took it.

    The owner had finally put his hand in his pocket and shelled out for some new pallet racking to replace the battered and bruised old ones. Not all of them of course; we would have to be selective. Kind of like triage in the emergency department; only the really fucked up ones would get seen to first.

    Oh, and he wasn’t going to pay trained and experienced people to install them; we were much cheaper. Safety gear? You know the answer to that one.

    There must have been about 8 of us. Hungover and/or stoned, fumbling around like we knew what we were doing. I’m sure someone in the group had done this before or at least seen someone doing it.

    So here we all are getting hoisted up via forklift and traipsing around on the horizontal beams anywhere from 6ft up to two storeys high. Safety cage? You must be kidding. You don’t even get a pallet buddy; just stand on the tines and shut up.

    Hanging on with one hand while you bang away on a beam with the other. The one thing I recall most clearly was my cousin standing on the highest rung way up the top. He had to bend down a little because of the roof. He’s using both hands to hold a hammer drill and pushing it hard into the concrete wall to create a hole for a dynabolt. One foot on each horizontal beam and that’s it; no hands holding onto anything for safety, just balancing and pushing this big fucken drill into the wall. Fuck me!!!

    No one was hurt and no one thought anything was out of the ordinary. It was back to business as usual when we next came in. We would often notice a buckled vertical beam here and there and look at each other. Hey, we had to pick the ones most in need. Those rickety bastards might get chosen next time around – maybe in 3 or 4 years perhaps.

  • WHEN I WAS YOUR AGE: Hardly Anyone Was Kung Fu Fighting

    Let’s talk about generation X and the martial arts. In Australia we were quite cut off from the rest of the world. No internet, no cable TV. The only time we saw anything outside the ordinary was on the news or a TV show like ‘The Wide World of Sports’. Even then we could easily be fooled. The only way to verify something was to physically go to the library and do some hard copy research. Most of us just went straight for the encyclopedia and accepted the few paragraphs (if that) it gave us; and that was a very exceptional effort!

    It is safe to say that the average kid I grew up with got their information regarding martial arts from the movies. To us, Bruce Lee and Chuck Norris were practitioners of a style of fighting that seemed to work like magic! Not only did they beat up guys bigger than them, but they also defeated entire gangs single handed. This stuff was fucken awesome!

    Seriously, we had no way of knowing what styles even were real, let alone actually effective. Our experience of fight training was boxing or just getting into fights at school or on the street. We all suspected that professional wrestling was fake (maybe) and we were all very confused the first time we saw Olympic wrestling. I can remember seeing it in the TV guide during the Olympics and eagerly sitting down to watch it on telly. It was not what I was expecting.

    Neither was judo for that matter. I thought I was going to see some Oriental bad-assery. It wasn’t too dissimilar from the wrestling. Now that I think about it, even the boxing seemed boring; as it would to a kid whose only exposure to the sport would have been movies or highlights from the greatest fights in history.

    Back then kung fu and karate were interchangeable to us; it was shorthand for ‘mystical ass kicking system’. Maybe you would stumble upon re-runs of ‘Kung Fu’ on television and see poorly choreographed fight scenes with David Carradine, believing this stuff was possible.

    The martial arts parody “They Call Me Bruce?” from 1982 mixed up the kung fu, karate/ China, Japan stuff; I do not know if it was on purpose or not. A lot of other Asian references get mixed up in that movie too and now I need to go find out more.

    Any fights or brawls in the Hollywood and British films we most often watched were usually variations of boxing with basic street fighting techniques thrown in: headbutts, low kicks, trips and wrestling. Only rewatching stuff later did I start to notice the odd straight hand chop; judo throw or joint lock. I can even remember hearing the term judo chop being used a few times.

    Characters such as James Bond were shown training in Judo or karate, but it was just part of the characters substantial list of skills. The actual chop-socky film catalogue was limited, for me and mine anyway, to Chuck, Bruce and the few Hong Kong films that made it to our video stores. Jackie Chan had the added appeal of the insane stunt work. I am pretty sure we all understood that stuff was fake, but we all suspected he could whoop ass just as effectively as Lee and Norris.

    I mentioned the television station SBS in my last post (for this thread) and how we thought the show selection was crap. Well, that’s where we would have seen Bruce Lee, Jackie Chan, Sammo Hung and Yuen Biao if we bothered to look. Shit, they were probably screening early Jet Li movies and the Shaw Brothers stuff! That was our loss.

    Before Chuck Norris, Hollywood was a bare-knuckle boxing kind of town (along with guns, lots and lots of guns!). Clint Eastwood and Charles Bronson would punch the shit out of any bad guys they didn’t shoot holes in. There might be a side character or villain who uses a foreign martial art, so I’m sure we got some ideas there, but they were just the exceptions.

    Except for ninjas. These guys were the epitome of martial arts magic! Shadow warriors who moved in silence; were so skilled at camouflage they were practically invisible. They used swords and all kinds of bizarre weapons AND they could fuck you up with their unarmed combat skills as well. Acrobatics and acts that straight up defy physics! These dudes were the crème de la crème of the Far East.

    To be a ninja was to be the ultimate warrior. We had no concept of MMA or military special forces at that age. Cinema hadn’t fallen in love with the whole CIA trained assassin trope yet. We had James Bond and ninjas. All the other tough guys were just guys who could fight really well and if need be, they would have no problem employing a firearm to eliminate a threat.

    My mates and I were enamoured with these enigmatic Asian ass-kicking arts. Our fathers, although they enjoyed the movies, were not quite convinced. “A good boxer will destroy anyone trying to use that fancy-dancy stuff” they would assert. It was early days and we all had no idea where it would go. I look forward to re-taking the journey with you.

  • CORPORATE CONFUSION: Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

    When I was a kid, I remember seeing all these posters around the Sydney CBD saying, “Hands off the BLF”. I would see them marching through the streets on news programs chanting that same line. The grown-ups told me they were a powerful union; the letters stood for Builders Labourers Federation. I remember walking under all the scaffolding in the city over the footpaths and the boarded-up construction sites. I also knew that these BLF people were on strike a lot. I hadn’t really put it all together at that age. To me the only strike that mattered was a teacher’s strike – day off, you little ripper!

    Growing up I would hear stories about the outrageous antic of dock workers telling their bosses to fuck off and these same workers getting ridiculously high wages and penalty rates. Construction workers receiving extra pay through things like danger money, height allowance or fucken dirt allowance. Garbos getting a ludicrous number of sick days because of working in the rain.  I have actually met people with over a years’ worth of accumulated sick days!

    It sounded wonderful! Growing up working class, it felt like these people were doing the good work of Robin Hood. Getting a job backed by a strong union seemed like a clever career strategy. Economics be damned! Fuck those rich business owners! If they don’t want to share, we’ll force them to.

    I had no idea of the history behind these movements. The atrocious working conditions and abysmal wages. The ruthless and often violent pushback by the industrialists and their backers. These disputes didn’t end in the industrial relations commission (it didn’t exist). The early versions of strike action often ended in the hospital or the morgue. Brutality and standover tactics were used by both sides.

    I had no idea of the history behind these movements. The atrocious working conditions and abysmal wages. The ruthless and often violent pushback by the industrialists and their backers. These disputes didn’t end in the industrial relations commission (it didn’t exist). The early versions of strike action often ended in the hospital or the morgue. Brutality and standover tactics were used by both sides.

    More about the history and legacy of the movement in later posts. I just find it disheartening to see how the union movement is slowly but surely fading away. The vicious circle of people refusing to join the union because it is too weak and weakening it by doing so. I have worked in union and non-union jobs and the misery an unchecked asshole boss can inflict, combined with minimum wage is enough to convince me to stay a member. This is especially the case for unskilled labour: machine worker, manual grunt, forklift or truck driver – less than a dime a dozen.

    One realisation I had about this was when we had a load of freight arrive late. The supervisors gathered as many hands as they could and waited while we unloaded and sorted the goods. This was a union yard. I remember telling my coworkers that thanks to the union this delay was the companies problem. If there was no union, it would most definitely have been our problem. Supervisors standing beside us (or in the fucken way!) telling us to hurry up.

     “It’s time for your lunch break? Bullshit!”

     “Your shift is over? Leave now and don’t bother coming back buddy.”

    Sadly, it seems the writing is on the wall for the union movement, and many will be very sorry when it’s gone. People have forgotten all about the battles of the pioneers. Refusing to work while they and their families were starving. Threats and intimidation. Beatings and murders. Most importantly, people seem to forget the truth behind the statement “you get nothing from the bigwigs without a fight. No improvements to workers’ rights and conditions ever came from asking nicely.”

    Granted there is a plethora of labour laws in place to prevent a return to the days of child labour and sweat shops, although there will always be a black market. Those laws were won by the suffering of the union members who went before. Trouble is nobody is going to pay union fees to an ineffective union out of gratitude for things done in the past.

    There are also a bunch of laws that weaken unions and tie their hands with red tape. It is a hard sell to ask a new worker to hand over a portion of their hard earned for the protection of a withering brawler; especially when that worker knows full well that they will receive the same benefits of any improved conditions and/or any pay increases that this old battler might win for their members.

    I know the union movement is far from perfect. As are the human beings that run it. Corruption, personal agendas and incompetence are unavoidable. The same is true for a police force, but how do you reckon you would go in a Mad Max society? Anarchy is definitely not a step up and in terms of survival of the fittest…A corporation versus a divided bunch of workers vying for jobs – does ‘race to the bottom mean’ anything to you?

    Corporations are profit driven and this does not bode well for workers. There is only so much profit you can generate, but those shareholders are insatiable! In the end it will always result in cutting the bottom line. The number of workers, the equipment they use, the regular maintenance of that equipment, the hours they work and the pay they get is all part of that bottom line.

    A powerful union that goes to far can force a company to take their business elsewhere. Somewhere with lax labour laws and no unions.

    Not an ideal choice.