I was on the way to the canteen with my mother to get some hot chocolate when I heard a deep, american accented voice. I startled a little, wondering if my bizarre daydreams of Bardi just showing up one day to whisk me away were happening, but just for a nanosecond. The voice clearly was not his. Especially when I heard it again.
It was the goatee guy (who's name I have yet to ask). Apparently he's from Chicago. Why would someone (who according to Paul was in the airforce and had something to do with plastic surgery, though I don't know if they were at the same time) come all the way to a tiny little Scottish piss-hole, sorry I mean town, and work for an agency in a bottling plant?
He fell in love with a woman.
A Scottish woman.
In his own words "I doubt my sanity as well sometimes."
Nice guy though.
In other work related news I am not going to work tomorrow, nor am I attending the funeral. It seemed like a nice compromise (and was entirely my mum's idea).
The permanent staff are giving serious thought about going on strike over their pay. Concerns are being raised about the fact certain agency workers are being trained on the machines that are needed to run the lines. I hope Whyte & Mackay aren't hoping to use us to cover themselves if there is a strike, I for one am not going to battle through a picket line consisting of my friends unless I am offered some very special rewards for it. And I mean VERY special. And if I am offered the benefits of at least double my pay, a temp or permanent job, extra training on as many of the machines as they can train me on and maybe some free booze then I shall screw up my work so badly they'll be begging the permanents to return, regardless of cost. Heehee.