I haven’t felt like writing for a while about what is going on because there is nothing happening.
The fish have dropped off. It’s been nearly a month straight of down days. Here and there other squads get deliveries to process, but my squad, the mighty Yellow Squad (otherwise known as the cleaning crew) clocks in at midnight, so our deliveries are sparse. That means every day is a Groundhog Day of clocking in for eight hours to clean the factory (which often is already clean).
I waddle around the factory in my raingear (apparently raingear makes me feel like I’m waddling), blue bucket of hot soapy water in hand and search for nooks to scrub, probably looking like I have the facial concentration of a diamond cutter and the crazy-eyed gaze of Castaway Chuck.
The seven or so of us who show up each day manage to survive by using massive amounts of sarcasm and imagination. We are always thrilled to be there. What are fish? We don’t work on a fish processing vessel. This is a factory that exists for the mysterious purpose of being constantly cleaned. Or this boat is actually purgatory. There’s a he-man-woman-haters clubhouse (which is the hopper) that I’m not allowed in. The boys spend hours in there collecting brain slugs. The giant cold storage below the processing deck is Narnia. One of my coworkers is a werewolf, someone is a vampire, although I’m not sure who, I am apparently a witch and our boss is a dolphin.
There is no real reason to hold onto your sanity in a place like this. There is no use for it.