House of Pain

Pack it up, pack it in let me begin.
It sucks to be new, the people I work with think I just manifested on the floor of the sawmill, like some alchemists golum, mind empty of thoughts and body weak with birthing. In a span of 5mins I was introduced to some twenty people and good luck remembering their names. Lucien, Dale, Pete, James, Trevor, Brent, Max... Ok so I forgot a few names there. The names dont matter anyways because they all treat you like a mewling kitten, a useless creature that needs to be dragged around by the scruff of its neck and occasionaly humiliated. There is the usual rookie-ing that goes on. Like sending me to go find a "board extender" which by the way does not exist. It is simply a device to keep a rookie walking around asking people to further humiliate himself or more commonly referred to as a wild goose chase. By the time I got to the second building in the mill I realized that there was no such thing as a board extender and oh the good laugh everyone had at my expense.
A few other strange things happened. One guy asked me if I had just graduated from highschool and at first I wondered if he needed new glasses but while I was rubbing my smooth chin it hit me! Im the only guy in the mill that shaves. Cutting the whiskers from my face makes me look like the sweet baby I am. Oh and speaking of Saw-mills, I propose a new name for these venerable institution. House of Pain, or if that doesn't suit it prehapes house of knives. I am surrounded by whirling blades of death and inches from anywhere awaits a gruesome death. For some reason the architects who design saw mills thought it wise to use slated grating for walking surfaces. Which means that you can see the grim reaper swing his scythe right under your feet. The place is terrorfying. The screaming blades actually look hungry and the vibrations make the catwalks and stairs undulate like a serpents coils. The word demonic leaps to mind.

100decibals is loud enough to suppress a shout and if you have never spent an extended amount of time under those conditions try covering your ears and placing your forehead against a washing machine during spin cycle for 12 hours and you will have a good idea what its like.
Needless to say I am learning how to read lips. But the problem with that is most of the guys that work out there have moustaches. So I might go ahead and propose that everyone who works in a mill be require to learn sign language. It would save lives and increase profitability. I cant understand a single word anyone says to me and between the garbled shouting and bad breathe, I'm left in a weakened state. After working 40hrs in 3 days my body is broken but my wallet is fat. Soul crushing work but with four days off a week I can simply pretend it was a bad dream. In a few weeks when some new guy starts chomping at my nipples, thirsty for milk; I am going to send him to find me a board extender.