"The Hoarder"

Today I am going to write about what I would have to call "The Hoarder". There are two completely different types of "The Hoarder" I have seen around but I feel the need to give them both the same handle as they tend to overuse what is given to them to an extreme. If you will read on then I will give you a better explanation as to what I mean. I hope you enjoy and don't forget that these are fun satires that have been created to help a person vent in a personally positive and creative forum.

I will start with "The Food Hoarder" that seems to display their fetish with food in the cafeteria meal line. In the camps there is a buffet set up you have all witnessed before. I am not sure if you have all had the privilege of seeing the Sunday afternoon buffet table after "The Hoarder" passes thru. It looks something like the American south after a series of tornadoes decide to throw some things around. You stare in amazement and wonder how that much coleslaw ended up in the Salsa tray and where the 150 packets of plum sauce you just saw went to. "The Food Hoarder" has not yet figured out they offer seconds. A careful combination of culinary engineering and balance is required to get "The Hoarders" food tray back to the table. A very specific method of stacking of solids on the bottom, growing slowly to a tower of flimsy or mushy food on top. Tends to be how the plate stacks up offering amazing displays without collapse. Structural engineers stare at these creations in amazement as "The Food Hoarder" waddles past them to their destination of sloth.

Once they reach their excavation site the table creaks under the weight of the tray while you can almost hear the poor chair wince in pain. Now the destruction begins. The fork and spoon become instruments of extraction shoveling loads of mixed up tornado debris into a recycling pit. "The Food Hoarder" has found their rhythm. Load after load of a once delicate structure are now being decimated to the silent joy of "The Food Hoarder". Glasses of standing diet soda stand lined up in front of the once great tower are slowly being drained to keep the seemingly enormous pit from hitting backlog and having to shutdown. Then it happens......."The Food Hoarder" hits what they call in their group "The Wall". It happens to runners in marathons and other humans who display amazing feats. "The Food Hoarder" can devour no more. They stare at a still half full plate of food and the 2 desserts that remain as if to convince the food that it would like to be eaten but alas 'The Hoarder is finished. With a swipe of napkins across the soiled lips they toss to the grease covered ball into the demolished tower that lies in shambles "The Hoarder" is done for now. Picking up the tray they walk to the rack where other half full plastic trays hold messes created for sinful pleasure and park their tray. About to walk away they look one more time at what they have created and a glimmer come to their eye. The Brownie.... plucking the tender moist brownie from the small glass plate it was displayed upon to tempt "The Food Hoarder" they walk away they grin in joyful triumph and attack the defenceless dessert with absolute aggression. Slamming the brown lump of goo to the back or their mouth from the palm of their hand. Chocolate oozes from between the gnashing teeth as with only a few open mouth chomps the deed is done and "The Food Hoarder" slowly moves on until the next tour of destruction.

Now we come to the "The Site Hoarder". At our jobs we have a thing called a tool crib. You go there to pick up any tool under the blue sky, use it until you are done with it and then hopefully return it. If you don't return it sometimes the guy at the tool crib will give you a little random list that tells you what you have to return before you can get anything else. No problemo so you have to go on a little scavenger hunt and pull secret missions sometimes to snag tools away from unsuspecting pipe fitters so that you can return what is on your list of things required. This is generally the normal way that things work and I had to explain that before I got into how "The Site Hoarder" works in these situations.

"The Site Hoarder" only takes and never returns. He will be a skiddish fellow who is always looking around for something but you never know what it is. If you are very good friends with this person you are lucky as only a select few are allowed into his private stash of company goodies. I truly believe that some "Site Hoarders" have gone so far as to start burying tools in boxes around site as if to set up their own elaborate string of personal tool cribs. Tucked into corners of buildings and up on scaffolds you will find job boxes with thick dust on them. These are signs of "The Site Hoarder". The easiest ways to identify 'The Site Hoarder" is that they have lots of keys on their key chain. They are no more important than you are with that one key and yet when they pull out their key chain they remind you of that Janitor you had in kindergarten. His keys were on large hoop earring looking thing with a retractable tether that only a 5 year old would look at as cool. When asked what all the keys are for you simply get the anwser "What keys?" as they slowly disappear back into his pocket and you my friend will never see that key ring again. Feeling threatened that his well constructed network is in danger of exposure he will never share a tool with you again.

The most interesting day to watch "The Site Hoarder" is on spring clean up days. This is when locks are busted off boxes and everything is rounded up as the tool crib guy is running out of stock. On this day "The Site Hoarder" has a mix of emotions. The feeling around the area is that of an old fashioned execution where all the townspeople stand and watch the (Executioner) take the bolt cutters and pop locks off of boxes. The stress can be seen on his face as he watches for some of his hidden boxes to be taken up to the chopping block and have their lock snapped off as if a guillotine came down on a co-conspirators neck. As the lid opens to reveal thousands of dollars in company tools "The Site Hoarder" is the first to yell "No wonder I could not find any tools look at this guys box!" or "Why can't people just return their tools so we can all use them!" Attempting to push the obvious blame away from his direction. Causing muffled noise from the crowd that has gathered and waiting for the next victim to have its lock cut off. The next few days "The Site Hoarder" roams in his depression slowly gathering up again and taking stock of what was not discovered by the company men who came in the night and drug his boxes away.

These are two different types of people requiring two different animals to represent them. 'The Food Hoarder" gets the great white shark. This is because during times of plenty the great white is known for simply taking bites out of its prey and not finishing the meal. The same vicious attack on unsuspecting and almost always defenceless prey make key match for "The Food Hoarder".

"The Site Hoarder" will be the average tree squirrel. Both tend to store up a large amounts of materials. The squirrel his nuts for winter and "The Site Hoarder" for his own use. In the spring the squirrel has to start all over as does "The Site Hoarder" after spring cleaning drives take place. Hope you enjoyed again.

Cheers!

The Biker

Here is one that has been on my mind for quite some time "The Biker". We all should know that motorbikes are the coolest thing in the world, or so "The Biker" would like you to believe. There are lots of different kinds of bikers that you see around. These here are some of the ones I seem to come across most often at work. All except for secretive "Vespa" they very well may be here but tend to not let anyone know they own one. It is fear of mockery and possible beatings that tend to keep "The Vespa" quiet about their secret lives in scooter gangs. For some reason there are many different kinds of bikers around here at work. All of them can easily be identified by some of these following traits.

There is "The Real Deal" being an older fella most of the time sporting a striking piece of facial hair and pony tail. "The Real Deal" actually has a pretty cool bike he managed to keep out of the clutches from his divorce back in the 80's. He could probably be the grandpa that you never met because he is either always gone to Sturgis or your parents were just kinda scared to introduce you into that influence when you were young. He's an ornery ole guy with old faded tattoos of anchors and poorly drawn naked women. The scars on his face show the war wounds of a highway full of projectiles. Over the years they have tenderized cheeks and performed on the spot dental extractions. These are the ones who never wear their colors around and usually have them. "The Real Deal" in the biker world deserves some respect.

Then on the opposite end of the two wheel rainbow is "The Flamer" being the young kid you remember almost pasting to a guardrail when he cut you off on his sewing machine sounding rice rocket. He is very often seen wearing his leather jacket complete with elbow and back pads around town while the bike is parked at home. Ball cap on head when he is riding his bike or spiky douche hair do when just strutting around in Joe Rocket or Alpinestar gear. Very often there is the young girl with t-bar underwear sitting on the back of his 400 lb rocket. Kinda dumb and unaware that at any moment "The Flamer" will attempt his famous 5 foot wheelie. Making here an instant you-tube sensation titled "Cute girl on motorcycle Fail." Sometimes I can't help but laugh at seeing some princess skidding down the road in flip flops and daisy dukes as "The Flamer" attempts to jog on pavement while doing 60 km/hr. Hey then again maybe its just me.

In between you have "The Learner" who is a young guy on a small cruiser that kinda looks out of place with his full face helmet. His skin has not toughened up yet from a barrage of bugs and small stones. He will be wearing a brand new jacket with whatever name his bike is. This jacket is always spic and span no bugs or scratches appear at all on the pristine leather. "The Learner" likes to listen to stories told by "The Real Deal" and dreams of someday rolling into Sturgis. If he does end up heading to Sturgis he will be taking his truck with a couple of buddies and their trailered bikes to the camp site outside of town. Simply so its not a very far ride into town for festivities and they can keep their jackets free of bug guts.

" The faker" usually a person of wealth that has purchased an expensive custom chopper from a television show or professional builder. Having made the purchase to give some sort of rebel appeal to his boring suburban lifestyle when he is not driving his four door Beamer. Always rides alone as he has no friends at the country club that dare make the move towards motorcycles as their status or wives will not allow them. He is a rebel amongst his friends and a knob to most everyone else he waves to on the highway. Sporting brand new top end gear he is a walking "for everything else there is visa" advertisement. There is a second kind of faker as well. He is not rich and may have a bike but not always. He is easily spotted by his wearing "Support Red and White" clothing. Never an associate himself he wears his wannabe colors strutting around thinking he is bad ass and demands respect. "The Faker" in this instance tends to just disappear sometimes and nobody seems to know where they went or really remember them.

"The Vespa" simply the gay guy on a scooter usually found is small gangs and are good for a chuckle. I have nothing against gay people. Just scooters. "The Vespa" seems to somehow suit them perfectly. It would be odd to see a guy wearing a scarf in the summer on a Fatboy. Vespas work for their riders style. "The Vespas" keep to their own and tend to congregate around cafes and stores that have green or organic in their name. You may frequently get stuck behind a group of them in the slow lane. Take a second and watch them drive while sipping some kind of beverage that I cannot pronounce while chatting to the person beside them. Their trademark long scarf flapping in the wind dangerously darting towards the spinning rear tire. Ever threatening to lop off the unsuspected riders head in a quick grab and jerk.

Then the last one I will list is " The HD Wannabe" this is my absolute favorite to see around work as they appear in multitudes. Here we have the fella who has never owned a bike but religiously shops at Harley Davidson bike dealerships to purchase everything from them. His Christmas presents from family include Harley Davidson picture frames and HD key chains from the kids. His collection of t-shirts from around the world are brought back for him from friends and relatives to help feed his addiction. He owns those stupid looking Harley Davidson bandannas (oh how I hate them!!) to cover a bald spot, $45 Jockey shorts with HD written on them and various other knickknacks and items that have nothing to do with a motorcycle but are all brandished with emblems of motorcycles. This man has a love affair with the name brand Harley Davidson possibly even a fetish at times. If he were to sell all his HD memorabilia he could afford a bike himself but sadly will never make the purchase.

A comparison to the animal kingdom for the biker is a difficult one as there are so many different types to try and fit into a single animal. So for this I have to say "The Biker" is like the skunk. They have a certain appeal that makes people want to go near them or even touch them to see if they are something other than what you have been told by others. Yet once you get that close to one you will never forget and walk across the road to avoid the next one.

Cheers!

The Albertan

I have taken some time off of writing a blog for a while as I have been at home with my wife welcoming our new born son into the world. He is happy and healthy so life is friggin' fantastic. I was not sure I would be able to write when I returned to work as I felt pretty uninspired after the last 6 weeks of family time. Thank you to the people who asked me to keep writing and to the folks at work who's just plain oddness inspire me. With that I am ready to explain to you "The Albertan". This blog is a blur of people I have met in many years. I have to admit I have learnt alot from some Albertans and have also taught a few a thing or two. If your concerned about the words in this blog having reference to yourself read the disclaimer and remember to laugh. Only when we laugh at ourselves can we truly be happy. Cheers.

Alberta is an average sized province in western Canada. Its bordered by the mountains of British Columbia and the Prairies of Saskatchewan. There is nothing really exceptional about Alberta other than it is lucky to have a huge deposit of tar sand that helps drive the Canadian Economy as well as our countries greenhouse gas production. This helps the Albertans to receive huge amounts of bank credit in which to live excessively on and flaunt for all visitors to see. There is also the famous Rodeo in Calgary called the "Calgary Stampede". This is a week in the summer when highly overpaid business executives trade in power suits for cowboy hats. They then get drunk for a week at staff parties downtown and prey on wannabe cowgirls with plastic breasts. If this is not Capitalism at its finest I have never seen it.

Upon arriving in Alberta you have no choice but to meet "The Albertan" as it is their home and there is no way to avoid this, sorry. It could be "The Albertans" long roots in cattle ranching that gives them the hospitality of "Get off my land or I will shoot" or it could be that Alberta is pretty much the equivalent of that spoilt kid you went to school with that never learnt to share very well. Sure they will give you some candy if their dad is standing there but its not without a struggle to pry that kids hand open. Alberta has not come into their found wealth very well. It is a regular occurrence to hear "The Albertan" speak about separation from Canada or comments like "I never been to Kbeck but I pretty sure I own some of it from the money I done sent over there." (the grammar in that sentence is correct)

For some reason or other the Albertan takes it upon themselves to let you know that you are on what they feel is their land. It is no longer a part of Canada to them it is strictly called Alberta. Often inviting you to leave at anytime or just simply reminding you that there is still a highway that exits the province as well. Sometimes you feel like they expect a tip like the bellhop who opened to door for you while you carried your own bags up the stairs because the elevator was working. Simply for standing on the oil soaked ground beside them they feel should carry a provincial tax or levy.

Sadly thou the Albertan is held back by a single trait that without the rest of they country would cripple their economy. That dear friend is laziness. If it were a law in "The Albertan" constitution it would read that : When in Alberta and working beside "The Albertan" that person who is not from Alberta shall perform a percentage more of the work than the Albertan based upon province of origin. Saskatchewan and Manitoba are an automatic 60% as they Just want to work and don' t care. British Columbia is a mere %25 in the winter and 50% in the summer as Albertans are scared they will just quit and ride their snowmobiles all winter if asked to work too hard. Quebec is 50% across the board and its a struggle at times to get that much from them. The Atlantic provinces once again get screwed with the furthest travel time and the most work at 75% because Albertans know they have no choice in the matter. The territories are not included in this as they tend to rarely leave home for work in Alberta.

So as closing I must find a comparison for "The Albertan" in our animal kingdom as with the other explanations. "The Albertans" I believe are best compared to the small house dog. It seems to have the life. Usually found Lazing around all day in a comfortable home. When someone comes to the door they make one heck of a fuss and will only settle down when given a treat or a pat on the head. Finally they are not sad to see you go but will watch and make sure you are off the property when you do exit.

The N word ... no not that one.

This one today is going to be a personality that was brought into my mind by few interesting characters I have come across while living in Camps. I thought they would all fit together well making this Blog a little longer than normal. When I say the word Nazi many people become offended. Understandably so it could be a little harsh of a term to describe someone you meet at work. My wager thou is if you would have a chance to meet these folks I am sure you would find the word fitting for their personality. So with the words in the next couple paragraphs I will try to give you an image of these people and why they have received the dubious title of “Nazi”. I am not here to convince you only to make statements and let you create your own perception from these images I hope you see.

The first type of Nazi I ever encountered in a camp was the “mall cop security guard Nazi.” It’s a long handle but that’s basically what they are. These would be the low-level foot solders of the Nazi army. Untethered Cronies sent to do all the dirty work. They are the crowd control and a constant visual presence of the regime. Shortly after entering camp you will meet the (I wish I was a real cop but I have a criminal record or an unstable mental condition) security guards. More often than not they seemingly tend to be that guy from high school who nobody took seriously. He’s the guy who somehow managed to have the one marble left in his head that kept him from walking into class with a gun. Now all grown up with the exception of still living at home and playing World of War craft in all his spare time. He has found a source of income that allows him to feel a sense of authority while at the same time supporting his ever-growing action figure collection. He loves to get right in your face knowing if you say one bleep of a word to him he can get on his ever present safety blanket walkie talkie. Calling his flashlight wielding gang of dungeons & dragons buddies to have you escorted off the property. He truly gets off on searching your belongings with his O.J. Simpson leather gloves touching your underwear and asking you questions with no correct answer. With their snap at any moment tendencies, clearly unstable mental state and desire for complete control over the camp. “Mall cop security guard Nazis.” win the title of foot solider Nazi.

Next I looked inside the camp again to find the next group of Nazis in hiding. Usually at the end of the food line handing out bowls of soup is the Camp Kitchen Nazi. Both male and female versions of this Nazi control the food intake of all camp residents. There position of control would label them to be the SS Nazis. The males tend to be the ones who want to issue your food intake down to the exact calorie. Seemingly wanting to keep you weak enough to be easily stopped in case of uprising due to the food that is served. Spewing propaganda at you in the forms of fresh fruit pictures that you have never seen available to eat and nicely laid out tips for dieting where the items also never appear on the menu. They keep you chasing that imaginary dream of well being and picturesque health while constantly crushing it with another meal of high carb and fat intake meals. Mmmm perogies again! Left lethargic and lazy there is no resistance. Stepping out of line and asking questions such as “Could I get that pork chop with no fat on it?” Absolutely infuriates the Kitchen Nazi. He will then take his frustration out on the next 5 people in line by finding the smallest pork chops in the tray for your friends. Thus the divide and conquer method so well used by the Nazis is imposed by our very own chef of the SS.

The female Kitchen Nazi is a lot more direct with her offensive attacks. Remarks to people like “ I don’t think you need anymore food on that plate.” Or the dead stare at girl’s hips with a snide look on her face when adding lasagna to the plate. She uses tactics of verbal and mental humiliation to break you. Constantly searching for signs of rebellion and turning one person on another for her own personal amusement. One of her techniques is using a nice steak for the Nazi rats plate in front of you in line and then giving you that dried up piece of grizzle. You leave the line wondering who that dick was and how he got such a better meal. Once again succeeding in their plan for unrest and instability.

Now we get to the Adolph of the bunch. This is the man behind the podium conducting meetings with the moustache. He tells you that you are not good enough and you will never be good enough! Breaking spirit and moral for 14 days is his game. He sees everyone as a number and will sacrifice as many as it takes to make his point. This is the “Superintendent Nazi”. You can never measure up to the set standards it is futile to even attempt. If you come close to the line they will simply increase the standard and punish the rest creating complacency. Little brother is always watching. There is the constant reminder that the door you came through to get here you can head right back out. Creating chants and group activities everyday to slowly brainwash the masses into a lull of work, work, work. This is the created utopia of this madman. Propaganda by plastering signs with words like “COMPLY.” and “CONFORM.” For your viewing pleasure every morning and limiting free time and social gatherings this Nazi has created an environment of social control. You must become apart of his (Safety Culture). He creates programs that reward simpletons for turning on their coworkers. Siding with them and asking for them to “Help me, help you, work safer.” he claims. Tell me when you see someone step out of line and I will give you rewards that make you the envy of your group. Then smashing any sign of rebellion before it can grow out of control with famous 3 step methods of detention and repercussion. Techniques of population control and tradesman genocide are rampant while under his control.

I truly hope that you can now see where the word Nazi used in this sense is not brash. Instead looking at this as reveling of the true nature of the beast and the intentions to create a numbed society of builders for their corporations and big business. Little brother is watching you.

Cheers!

O.D.B. the old dirty bastard

This is one that I have been pondering for a while. When I say Old Dirty Bastard you may think of a lot of things. Some maybe a dead Gangster rapper, a coke bottle glass wearing greasy pedophile with a pocket full of candy or some old man with dirt caked fingernails and cigarette stained teeth. The last is the closest to what I am getting at and the following will help you with a description and possibly some strategies to help you out if your stuck in an encounter with the O.D.B.

This personality is that of the 50-year-old version of Linus. His blanket has over time slowly transformed into a mere shred of what could possibly be a thickly stained cloth sticking out of the back pocket. His brown farmer slacks layered with months of god knows what while Drool and spittle line the front bib of his shirt. This all creating an opaque tint next to the shiny snap together pearl buttons. An aura of bacteria and germs constantly rotate around him like a solar system to their mother sun. Foul smells of pickled herring and what could be old jockeys thickly crusted and well past due date resonate from his being.

Here is the man you pray goes to the bathroom after you as following him could be a traumatizing experience. After the O.D.B. leaves an inhumanly fresh coil floating in the porcelain bowl. (There is no flushing for the O.D.B.) He at the same time with amazing accuracy or shit luck will manage to get some of that coil smeared on the toilet seat itself. (Really, how is this possible?) The O.D.B will then proceed to play his favorite game. “Touch every handle and knob on the way out of the bathroom.” skipping the actual act of using soap and water as if it were holy water to a vampire. Finished off by excitedly cramming his finger deep to the nasal cavity searching for a quick snack on the way back to the lunchroom.

If you get so lucky as to sit beside or god bless you across from the O.D.B. Here are some of the things you can look forward to during the day. The ever dangerous dodging an Arial barrage of liquid projectiles. They are either from the unblocked open mouth cough or heaven forbid that high velocity sneeze. All you can do is try to defend your already sickly looking bologna sandwich or easily exposed apple. Not to forget your newspaper that becomes unreadable if left out while the bombing raid of infectious piddle spots smudge the lettering into an unreadable mess of ink.

I am sorry to say but if you are stuck in the close proximity of the O.D.B. for your shift resistance is futile. By day 12 your immune system will be fighting like a 57 year old Mike Tyson and finally give up in an embarrassing loss. You now have the undaunting pleasure of returning home carrying multiple strains of O.D.B. germs. As unwillingly as you took them you hand them off to your friends and family. Around the middle of the week when you are home fighting off a full blown cold your friends or family know now exactly why they are getting a tickle in the throat. The evil stare you get reminds you of your friend the O.D.B. Double win.

To ask the O.D.B. for use a tissue is hopeless. These words fall upon deaf ears, as the O.D.B. has no concept of oral hygiene. I believe I have come to a supported conclusion that O.D.B.’s are illiterate. There are large black and white signs in most rooms reminding them to cover their cough and wash their hands. I have even found one sign written hastily with a sharpie in a stall of the washroom that not so politely asked the O.D.B. to stop flicking boogers on the wall. It even came with small arrows and circles around the crusted green impact zones. (I now avoid that stall no matter how dire my situation is.)

I have one final aid for you in identifying and isolating the O.D.B’s plethora of germ matter. When you hear someone in the shower from outside using the farmer’s handkerchief remember what unit that was in. What has happened is the O.D.B. using the lungpower of a marathon runner has contaminated the shower stall by cleansing his nasal cavity in every direction possible. I asked you to remember the unit, as you now must at all costs avoid it until it has received a minimum of double decontamination. (2 cleaning days) Trust me on this one.

I closing I can only find one animal to compare this personality to and I am sorry to say it but Monkey you are it. I really enjoy you and find you entertaining or funny most of the time. It was just that one time when I saw you stick your finger in your bum and then pop it in your mouth that your reminded me of some people I work with. I need a new job.

Cheers!

The Juice Junkie

Today is about "The Juice Junkie" you have seen them around town usually exiting the Gym or going into one as that is pretty much where they live. The person being usually male who when you look at makes you wonder if they can wipe their own butt because the muscles in their armpits make it look impossible to bend an arm that way.

Well yes these freaks of nature also exist in camps. Constantly seen in size extra medium shirts with a toxic fart inducing protein shake in their hand. Slowly they try to walk but more like waddle their way sideways through the door to the gym for another session of picking up hundreds of pounds only to place it back exactly where it was picked up from in the first place. Finding the joy of asking their other neck less comrade to stick a syringe in their butt so they can pick up and put down even more weight. Hey sounds like fun to me too. I just have not jumped on the bandwagon yet.

The most distinguishable trait of these self injecting testosterone monsters are the tattoos. I am starting to consider that there may be a Tribal tattoo steroid club that secretly exists. You can instantly become a member when you bench 300 lbs in the gym. They then rush you out the back door to get a big black tribal tattoo on your arm by some guy called Jack in a van with one stencil that everyone uses. It just seems way too ironic that so many neck less wonders of the unnatural world would in clear sense choose the exact same tattoo.

Other defining traits of the shrunken penis club are that they are never really seen doing any work. You may see them around the gym entrance but never around where any work is being done. This is due to the probability that they don't really work in the plants. They simply come to camps to devour 4 to 5000 free calories per sitting and use the unlimited gym access to fulfill their ultimate desire. To one day not fit out the door of the gym lie down and die on the blue mat in a bodybuilder utopia of sweat and protein shake stains. The desire to join the club just keeps increasing as I write.

To compare a "Juice Junkie" to something it would have to be a pig. Not that pigs are repulsive or anything, thou both farts I imagine smell very much as potent. I am using this comparison soley because a pig gets bigger and bigger. That is their desire they want to be the biggest damn pig at the trough. Willing to do anything to achieve that goal. Yet somehow not really seeing how big they are getting and causing their own death by it in the end.

I understand the need to be healthy and work out and I applaud people for doing so just remember when you either have to use the same drugs a horse does to gain some weight or are willing to let another guy stick a needle in your butt who has no formal training to be a doctor. It might be time to step back and look in the mirror for a good hard second and see if you can still see the person who started working out at the gym in the first place.

Cheers.

The Newbie

The Newbie, the new guy, fresh meat, whatever people call them they seem to stick out like a marshmallow in chocolate pudding. If your unsure what I am talking about the following should explain a little more and show you how easy it is to spot a Newbie at camp.

There are two types of Newbies the first is by far the easiest personality to pick out of a crowd. They have parents who are supporting them and they live at home. So they tend to show up wearing new gear. As well there may possibly be a lunch packed by mom. Some people buy new stuff but only the Newbie will show up with new boots, coveralls and usually some other item that is brand new with a Carhart or CAT emblem on it all at the same time looking like an advertisement for some Ford truck commercial.

So called normal people will not show up in all new gear its just for some reason laughed at and expect to get bugged or at least some dirt or mud thrown at you. All in good fun of course but the newbie does not understand this old tradition and will get upset when you kick dust on his new boots. Who cares thou they are the Newbie, hurt feelings forms are always available in every bathroom usually found under the name of " Paki passport photos" or "CLAC tickets"

Then there is the broke Newbie these are sometimes hard to tell apart from the "crackhead" or the "penny pincher" ( both of whom will be explained at a later date.) They have old clothes that have been used by either someone else or for cutting the grass and painting at home. The best way to spot this newbie is by the new boots on their feet. ALL Newbies have new boots.

So how can you tell this one apart from someone who just bought new boots? That's where the other distinguishable characteristics of a Newbie come in. When they first arrive they have a deer in the headlights look and think they just walked into reform school or a prison camp. Scared by all the rumors their drunk uncle who spent two months in a camp back in '84 told them. The stories of drugs addicts and violent offenders that live in camps stick in their mind. Newbies keep their new gear at arms length all the time. Staring at everyone for an abnormally long time while thinking that "The juice monkey" or the "Old dirty Bastard" is seeing them as their bitch for an evening of swapping cigarettes and bootleg liquor enjoyment.

The Newbie will also tend to be noticeably perplexed when they leave the meal line. Yet another place to easily spot the Newbie. Simply standing there with hair nicely combed looking for a table with the fewest people. Careful so not to offend someone and again becoming a bitch. This is a time consuming act and could take some time. The clumsy Newbie may bump into people or the ultimate in lunchtime entertainment drop a plate or cup full of Chocolate milk on the floor. Yes they all drink chocolate milk on the first day simply because its free and may become visibly excited about it. They will sometimes find other Newbies to hang out with on day 2 or 3 and then will remain by each others side constantly learning everything they can from what the others have experienced and heard.

The only thing I can really compare a Newbie to is the nerdy kid a school. They really stand out and heck everyone can't help but pick on them sometimes until they find out where they fit in the scheme of things and develop a camp personality. So next time you see a Newbie kick some dirt on their boots and when they get mad at you just tell them its for their own good and they will understand someday. If your a pipefitter you can also ask them to join your PEN 15 club. If your an Ironworker make sure you take the weee out of their hardhat for them.

Cheers!