Working in an Explosive Factory Part 6: Letting go
November 10th 2008 12:19
Working in an Explosive Factory Part 6: Letting go
The steam pipe cracks beside the concrete path and the cloud of silver wafts passed me. That is how I remember winter in the Explosive factor. Rain and paths blacken with the oozing mud of a three hundred sheep pooping where they want. I am not sure why sheep poop on my path just so that i can walk through it perhaps they are intelligent and know not to poop in their food. Having watched the sheep I have doubts about their ability to do more than eat grass and grow wool. Eat grass, grow wool, eat grass, grow wool. Being slaughtered seemed to be the most interesting thing that happened in their lives.
I remember the insane sheep dog and the insane shepherd that spent most of his time threatening to choke the dog with piece of wire as it scampered excitedly away in any direction except toward the sheep. To slow him down the shepherd tied one front paw under his chin. I never knew how fast a dog could run on three legs until I saw this ball of puppy testosterone. The sheep were safe because the dog was insane.
Nitro-glycerine (NG) is heavier than you think. A bucket of it strains the arms to lift as you carry it from the bottom of a labyrinth along a path to the storage tank. Halfway along the path is a small stool so that you rest your arm. Even strong men need a rest if the distance is so great that they may drop the bucket.
It is funny how summer changes things as the grass ripens and the sheep are shorn. The mad dog is still a mad dog and the angry petty manager is still the same angry petty manager. One running away from sheep and the other trying to herd people as if they were sheep. I liked the dog better. When I placed the letter of resignation before the people in the head office they were glad to see that I was moving onto a better job. Rocket scientists whose reputation far exceeds the reality said good bye to their rocket maker. Yet for others that were friend before I placed the note offered only silence. Silence sometimes can be deafening. It can say more about a person than a thousand words. Silence can be courage or it can be fear.
Of courage I can say little because few people should talk of what they cannot measure. Yet of fear I know plenty. I often wondered if courage should be called the lesser of two fears because without the fear it is just insanity. Fear can be written down by poets and writers in many ways but it does not begin to express an ounce of it. Fear is blinded as you run in a mad panic from flames. Fear is staring through the window of burning building and wondering that burning lump is a human. Fear is listening to the sizzle and pop of explosive paste and watching as ignites and engulfs the machine you are working on. Fear is the knot in the pit of the stomach as return to same job where is all happened to see whether you would crack. Fear is keeping you there in case you do crack and find that this test could determine your life story. Fear the pain in the legs and the dreams at night. Fear is a drop of acid and knowing that it could take an eye. Fear makes people weak and it make the strong. They fight or they flight but they rarely know why. I have seen men run a kilometre out of fear and I have seen others still running to this day. Twenty years have passed since that day and yet when I feel the twinge of pain as I straighten my elbow I am reminded of it. Fear never leaves you because it just hangs in the air. There is much to fear and who ever said that only the dead are without fear really did know what they were saying. Having been dead and pondered for hours what life for fear always fights against another fear. The fear on of not knowing if your life is well spent. True fear is meticulously making a rocket motor and wondering if it will ever be used.
It takes a lot to intimidate a man who has been on first names with death. The focus of life goes away and all that is left is a fear of being less than why you were born. Working in an explosive factory was an adventure that ended when the reality of I was making became the fear of what I was doing. After you have spoken to death and wondered if all that you have is gone and seen it ripped away in a deafening blast you lose all sense of the fear of any other person. You think to yourself. If I died today who would it matter to and why should you care?
On my last day of work I saw everyone to say goodbye except my old manager who stayed in his office for the entire day. Silence say what words could not. As I handed over my ID at the front security gate office I saw the boss’s car stop just before the boom. We froze and stared at each other for while. Silence again as time froze between us. When I smiled and nodded I never saw a more relieved face in my life. In the moment before he smiled I saw a face I had seen so many times in the mirror. I saw fear.
bang bang
The steam pipe cracks beside the concrete path and the cloud of silver wafts passed me. That is how I remember winter in the Explosive factor. Rain and paths blacken with the oozing mud of a three hundred sheep pooping where they want. I am not sure why sheep poop on my path just so that i can walk through it perhaps they are intelligent and know not to poop in their food. Having watched the sheep I have doubts about their ability to do more than eat grass and grow wool. Eat grass, grow wool, eat grass, grow wool. Being slaughtered seemed to be the most interesting thing that happened in their lives.
I remember the insane sheep dog and the insane shepherd that spent most of his time threatening to choke the dog with piece of wire as it scampered excitedly away in any direction except toward the sheep. To slow him down the shepherd tied one front paw under his chin. I never knew how fast a dog could run on three legs until I saw this ball of puppy testosterone. The sheep were safe because the dog was insane.
Nitro-glycerine (NG) is heavier than you think. A bucket of it strains the arms to lift as you carry it from the bottom of a labyrinth along a path to the storage tank. Halfway along the path is a small stool so that you rest your arm. Even strong men need a rest if the distance is so great that they may drop the bucket.
It is funny how summer changes things as the grass ripens and the sheep are shorn. The mad dog is still a mad dog and the angry petty manager is still the same angry petty manager. One running away from sheep and the other trying to herd people as if they were sheep. I liked the dog better. When I placed the letter of resignation before the people in the head office they were glad to see that I was moving onto a better job. Rocket scientists whose reputation far exceeds the reality said good bye to their rocket maker. Yet for others that were friend before I placed the note offered only silence. Silence sometimes can be deafening. It can say more about a person than a thousand words. Silence can be courage or it can be fear.
Of courage I can say little because few people should talk of what they cannot measure. Yet of fear I know plenty. I often wondered if courage should be called the lesser of two fears because without the fear it is just insanity. Fear can be written down by poets and writers in many ways but it does not begin to express an ounce of it. Fear is blinded as you run in a mad panic from flames. Fear is staring through the window of burning building and wondering that burning lump is a human. Fear is listening to the sizzle and pop of explosive paste and watching as ignites and engulfs the machine you are working on. Fear is the knot in the pit of the stomach as return to same job where is all happened to see whether you would crack. Fear is keeping you there in case you do crack and find that this test could determine your life story. Fear the pain in the legs and the dreams at night. Fear is a drop of acid and knowing that it could take an eye. Fear makes people weak and it make the strong. They fight or they flight but they rarely know why. I have seen men run a kilometre out of fear and I have seen others still running to this day. Twenty years have passed since that day and yet when I feel the twinge of pain as I straighten my elbow I am reminded of it. Fear never leaves you because it just hangs in the air. There is much to fear and who ever said that only the dead are without fear really did know what they were saying. Having been dead and pondered for hours what life for fear always fights against another fear. The fear on of not knowing if your life is well spent. True fear is meticulously making a rocket motor and wondering if it will ever be used.
It takes a lot to intimidate a man who has been on first names with death. The focus of life goes away and all that is left is a fear of being less than why you were born. Working in an explosive factory was an adventure that ended when the reality of I was making became the fear of what I was doing. After you have spoken to death and wondered if all that you have is gone and seen it ripped away in a deafening blast you lose all sense of the fear of any other person. You think to yourself. If I died today who would it matter to and why should you care?
On my last day of work I saw everyone to say goodbye except my old manager who stayed in his office for the entire day. Silence say what words could not. As I handed over my ID at the front security gate office I saw the boss’s car stop just before the boom. We froze and stared at each other for while. Silence again as time froze between us. When I smiled and nodded I never saw a more relieved face in my life. In the moment before he smiled I saw a face I had seen so many times in the mirror. I saw fear.
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