(Insert Clever Title About Long Hard Day)

Why am I telling you to do it… simple, I’m too tired to think of something witty and such. Today’s run: fourteen seconds faster than yesterday’s. Immediately after the run I got a call from a guy who finds jobs for backpackers. Today, I helped plant vines at a vineyard that sells grapes to Casella Wines, the makers of Yellow Tail.

When vines are planted (at least the way we did them today) one guy is in a tractor pulling a water buffalo that is connected to a drill. Another guy walks along and finds the place to insert the vine. And one guy does all the bitch work of bending over repetitively inserting the tiny vine into the newly dug hole, then carefully compact dirt back around the vine. I was working with two other guys today, with experience… so; guess which of the three jobs I ended up with. If you guessed bitch work, you would be right.

Not only, was I the one doing the bending and such, but this is after having ran a mile and a half, and having a half hour of time to get ready and get there, BUT! This is after having done the P90X work out yesterday. So not only where my muscles already sore, I got to do all the manual labor today. This is of course all in 36 degree heat, Celsius! Converted for those like me who hate making mathematical conversions (Sorry Michelle + Vic, but we can’t all be as left minded as you) that equals 96.8 degrees F.

All this sounds crappy enough (and if it doesn’t I don’t think you’re getting the full force of the crappyness of the situation). To top it all off, I got to work with 2 rocket surgeons. Australian rednecks with no concept of time or urgency. I know it is the country and all that, but come on. What was supposed to be a half hour lunch break, turned into two hours, because they had something pressing that had to be done right away that was only going to take “a quick sec”. Then, even though I was moving as fast as the machine was, and we could have finished by the time Paul was going to come pick me up, they still decided, even though I was the one doing the hard work, THEY were going to take a break. The problem is, if they take a break, I can’t do my job. I was working harder then these guys. So I had to keep at their pace. Paul came and left. So, forty five minutes AFTER when we should have finished, we’re free to go. Unfortunately, I have no means of my own transportation, so one of the rocket surgeons has to take me home (but not strait home, because the family was hanging out at Maccas [McDonalds] where the boys work).

But, even having someone waiting on him, does he hurry? NO. Does he show any effort to move faster? NO. Then he also has to drop off the other rocket surgeon before I can gain my freedom. Miserable heat. Miserable conditions. Miserable work. Miserable coworkers. There was I suppose one good thing that came out of work today, now if I ever use the phrase "I feel like I just got hit by a tractor pulling a water buffalo" I actally have a reference point for what that really feels like.

And yet, like the sick glutton for punishment that I am… I can’t wait for work tomorrow.

"Why?" One might ask. I came to this country for many reasons, one of which was to un-spoil myself. I made it through a day, of hard labor (outside of camp) in extreme heat (outside of camp) and with a couple assholes, who made my day difficult, that I did not punch in the face. They slowed down the work. Took their sweet time. Basically did everything possible to make the day miserable. Miserable enough to quit, and not come back the next day.

The Spirit of America however, is not one of quitting. It is one of perseverance. The Spirit of America keeps going strong, long after others have fallen. THAT is why we kick ass. THAT is why our nation leads the world. This boss is a douchbag who uses and wears down his day laborers to nothing. Looking at the paper of the names of other backpackers traveling in the area who had worked for him, in the last week and a half not one person lasted more than a day. But, also looking at the names, none of them sounded American. Not one. I will go back tomorrow. I will kick ass. I don’t care how much my muscles hurt, I don’t care how much of a jerk my “co-workers” are. I will go back tomorrow. I will out work the “professionals” that “work” there regularly. I will make Rod tell his friend Michael (aka. The orange guy who got me the job) “Next time you have a yankee bloke looking for work, send him to me”.

Oh, and did I mention that tomorrow is suppose to be at least 40 degrees (again, for those of us who aren’t left brained) that translates to about 104 F and so I have to be out the door at ¼ to 6 in the AM. Ya… this will be fun.