Bilocate — part two (back on the job)

. . . continued from Bilocate — part one (minor demolition)

	Work? Everything is. Waged or waging with money or psyche, for some, neither balance out & tenderly continue in that drift like an ever-morphing résumé of embellished or left-off acceptabilities — a contrary game of mutual hustle, implying through over or undertone that you’re an overall team player! — all of it institutional theater of subtext & compromised routine illusion.

Team (cheap noun, capital verb & manipulative adjective): strapped animals principally harnessed to pull it together.

As for this hobby-job post, it’s time to get back to work now — like all things: temporary in the lengthy perception of the word, whether hourly or lifelong. 

&, with that abstractly set out, let’s drive up a mountain — one as physically real as the internal struggle to merely live — & meet the lot.

Think of it as engaging in a priceless waste of fictitious time . . . 

1/4
	Park somewhere past 6:30, ahead of schedule after a security gate check-in, & drive, hugging a narrow series of snow-plowed switchbacks. The surrounding sky is dawning right behind you, almost awake. Defrost, idling between alternating vices — a figurative continuation of what could be judged as prevailing minor demolition, but the first day of actual manual labor here at this Victorian lodge. 

Collect in the Human Resources portable prefab conference room with five other captured temps around a table for a health questionnaire, liability paperwork & respirator training. 

The resourcer squirts hypothetically hazardous sugar-water mist into a demonstration face mask & seems disappointed to hear that you smell-feel no hypothetical ill effect. Trying to correctly respond to their response, correct yourself to say you maybe-might’ve-? sensed something just as the mask was removed. They accept this as a qualifying positive test reading & promptly move on with the strict safety training. 

Two new faces enter, introduced as Lenny, the project manager, & Anthony, the work supervisor. They pass out meal vouchers for the employee cafeteria in the basement of the nearby main building & instruct to meet them there after lunch when they’ll take everyone to the worksite. The temps seem pleased, like they’ve been given a surprise bonus. 

You think of the sack lunch sandwich, bought & prepared for labor, waiting in the car. 

Lenny & Anthony escort themselves out & the tester carries on as historian with a brief rundown bio of the nineteenth century lodge, recited like an out-of-date xeroxed tourist pamphlet, then the lunch break.

The voucher allows for a mystery entree & side as such, plus a small desert of some kind, the size of a free sample. There’s a slight excitement about the unanticipated handout as all of you stand in line with empty portion plates, looking ahead at the shower-capped-server-doled buffet. The sight/scent directly takes you as far back as elementary school, ending near the bowels already squirming in sensory premonition distress. A full dish of precut nearly-red jello squares appears unpopular, set off to the side like flushing wallflowers.

After lunch, Anthony shepherds a tour through a closed floor of guest rooms, ending at one with its door unhinged & propped against a hallway wall. Inside, boxes of masks, gloves & plastic hardhats top a makeshift worktable of plywood & sawhorses. As he distributes various tools, Anthony says they’re his “personal” tools & wants them returned at the end of each day. 

A smiling fresh haircut in a coordinated Dickies getup unholsters a hammer from his tool belt, holds it up & cheers “I brought my own.” 

As everyone is adjusting their hardhat sizes & respirator straps, Lenny stops in & informs everyone of security cameras. He explains that “they’re there to protect the lodge from problem guests, but, just-so-you-know, you’ll also be on camera” — passively blunt, yet swallowed as a condition of being the industrious team player! you were hired to appear to be. 

There are a few hours of loose demolition instruction & monitoring from Anthony, then the first workday is clocked & tools are collected.

You open the sack lunch & chew on the general circumstances while driving home.

1/5
	Day-two begins as Anthony the Lender meets up with you & the others back at the worksite, watches for a few minutes & then leaves. Effort immediately slows. 

One of the workers, who dubs themselves a DJ, quietly slips out, then returns even quieter with red eyes. 

Another sits on the floor looking at his cell phone. He asks how “engaged” is spelled, then starts crying & tells the story of a girlfriend he's texting. He says that she told him “good sex isn't enough for a good relationship.” You almost put an it’s okay, buddy hand on his shoulder, but don’t & just tell him “it has two g’s.” He knuckles his lids & edits.

Then, the intermittent skronk of an emergency alarm sounds. Everyone stops what they were barely doing to look at each other.

Lenny the Accuser arrives & tells everyone to follow him downstairs to clean up water from the fire sprinklers, but doesn’t mention a fire. The team trails him down a stairway of orange strobes flashing out of rhythm with the alarm honks. 

Hammer Smile is near the front, trying to speak to Lenny from behind over the noise as they walk. Halfway down, Lenny suddenly stops under the flashes & sound blasts. He looks back & up the steps & says that "everybody needs to be careful to not accidentally damage the sprinkler system in the rooms during demolition.” He scans all faces for a mute sec, as if expecting a confession, then turns & continues walking down. 

At the bottom, Anthony the Lender distributes mops & towels as the alarm stops but the overhead sprinklers still drip. You work until lunch break. 

In the cafeteria, empty garbage bags are flatly draped over carts with racks of prepped food. The servers appear unfazed & continue working the lunch line as others with wet shower caps rush around them, looking up at the ceiling & moving cookware around.

The stack of wet portion plates moves you to skip lunch & go outside. You mull over the sandwich you didn't bring.

In a shuttle-stop-looking enclosure for smokers, a vape-puffing kitchen worker, wearing scrubs with a wet hem dragging from one leg, exhales about fires they’ve heard were ignited by exploding cell phone batteries to one of the other temps: a self-described-as-recently-sober NC transplant who tells you that Greenville is druggy, they’ve had two flat tires in three days & asks where you like to drink around town. You tell him you can’t remember & he laughs like you didn’t mean it, then follows you back to the cafeteria. 

Spout a coffee from an industrial urn & find a seat across from Engaged in the employee dining room. He sits next to another temp, a reserved man who’s never offered his name. NC comes in & sits next to you with a loaded plate. Engaged takes a last bite, then reaches for his cell & holds it up like a prop that’s reminded him of something & tells NC that the girlfriend he's been texting all day has been throwing up the last few mornings. Reserved glances at Engaged then back down to his portion plate. NC recites an AA goal, wipes a wet fork on his sleeve & digs in. 

At the next table, Hammer Smile sits near Lenny & Anthony. You overhear that the sprinkler problem from before was triggered by electricians working in another part of the building.

Hammer Smile places an unlit cig in his smile, then rises & goes outside. 

Engaged checks his phone for messages, smiles for a moment, then suddenly doesn’t.

	& this is only Tuesday . . . coming apart, the indefinite future exposes its minute selves. We’ll finish this workweek in the next post with the spoiler-titled Bilocate—part three (back off the job).