The sense of isolation is overwhelming when going on a new job in literally “Butt Fuck” nowhere. Leaving a town you now call home, to drive several hours to a plot on a map to work for 12 hours a day with a bunch of guys you’ve never met, in fact I wasn’t spoken to for nearly 3 hours after getting aboard the truck.
The feeling of powerlessness is evident as well, especially when the forced air system is constantly blowing out 35 degree air and the bed is as comfortable as laying on hot rocks. There’s no connection to the outside world. The internet was something I had days ago, and phone reception is as come and go as the frequency at which you see bears in winter. There’s a venetian blind in my window that has the whole left side missing, so now my privacy is next to nothing, considering my room is at ground level and near the main entrance to “Zone 3”, which I am a proud occupant of.
The kitchen opens for breakfast about half an hour after we’ve already left and the washrooms constantly smell like an antiquated sewer system in France. There is free shampoo in fact, it says Bvlgari but I’m confident it's a sham, it’s a luxury not soon to be extended this way anytime soon.
Right about now I’m weighing the convenience and functionality of an iPhone against the un-just cost of utilizing such a device. But then again without internet service and zero reception, it’s as useful for interacting with others as writing a message on an etch-a-sketch and sending it via St. Bernard.
On the way here, driving past run down houses that people still inhabit and the junk that has accumulated outside of them it made - and for the most part - always makes me anxious. What if I end up like this, owning a yard with a 1970’s ford truck chassis and tow truck parts all strewn about, that is just as much a part of the landscape as the daffodils that once flourished there in the better times that have passed? What can I do so that I will not end up this way? It just makes me real uneasy about living away from home.
I can hear every move that the person in the room next to me makes. I can hear the sheets pulling across the linen and even when they scratch their head. The bed I am in makes a god awful noise every time I move as does the bed of the person next to me. There is no TV in my room or this place - not even in the “common room” which is so common it bears no particular reason or specialty for it to have its own room. Why would anyone go into that room? It’s a waste of space and energy - just another room to heat.
The place smells of my old Sunday school, you know the smell of heating oil and musty air, a place that had mould and mildew but dried out and got it again and dried out again. A place where it wouldn't be uncommon to find old desiccated mouse skeletons tucked away in long forgotten nooks and crannies. There is a lamp shade above a mirrored cabinet like my grandmother had back in the 80’s, and the cabinet is kind of teasing me because at least below the one in Grandmother’s house there was a sink!
I walked into the room I am in and noticed there is no chair for the desk so now I have to sit on the bed and lean up against the wall - which shifts an inch or so toward my neighbour.
I also noticed a spot on my right sock; upon further inspection I determined it to be black lubricating grease, due to its tell tale smell. Just so happens it’s one of my favourite pairs because of their comfort and that they are anatomically correct, I got them for Christmas last year from Stephanie. I liked the socks so much I hardly wore them and especially not when out to work. Oh well, so much for breaking habits. This is the kind of place where your mind keeps you company and then eventually tortures you, not enough around to distract you from the things you rather not think about.
Alas, my only solace in a place like this will be sleep.
