It's kind of funny. In the age of "political correctness" and "safety consciousness" how lackadaisical life once was. I have old television series on DVD and watched an episode in which parents had their small child laying free in the backseat of the car. No child seat, no anything. Not even a loose-fitting seat belt strung loosely around the toddlers waist. In the event of a head-on collision, this kid was a potential missile. I even recall as a small child, being allowed to lay across the back window of my parents old Chevy coupe. Given the wrong incident, I probably could've taken a head off. Or broken a neck at the very least.
Then people became aware. Aware of potential dangers. Even over compensating in some instances. Even recently, it's been mandated that children who'd graduated from the child seat in mommy and daddy's car, now must return. The safety harness that was fit for them to use yesterday, doesn't work as well today. Those poor little bastards. I'm glad I survived the treacherous terrain that was my childhood, so I never had to endure that torture and deprecation. Seat belts work. Maybe not for everyone, but that's just life's way of "thinning out the herd". I, myself, am unable to drive if I can't wear a seat belt. I recall using my moms car in high school and the seat belt was f*cked. You had to either sit on the latch, to make it appear to onlookers that you were wearing a belt, and therefore avoid getting an unwanted seat belt ticket from police; or you had to extend it further and click it into the elusive and hard to reach, middle seat belt buckle.
It's funny watching American TV, though, in regards to seat belt use. Generally, no one wears it until they about to either, collide with an object or another racing vehicle OR about to plummet over a cliff. Like the seat belt is going to help in defying gravity long enough to escape danger and injury.
Getting back to the lackadaisical attitude. What sparked my thoughts on this subject was something so innocent as picking my dad up from work.
My dad had many a job as I grew up. He was a handy fellow to have around, but before winding up as a heavy duty mechanic at one of the illustrious potash mines in our province, as a young man he held many positions. One that reminded me tonight was at a local machining company. I don't know what they do now, but the company today is far far larger than the small shop where my dad once was employed. As I said, I can't recall what he did there, but because he was a mechanic for most of his life, I'd imagine he was some sort of mechanical wizard there too.
At the time we were a one car family. My mom stayed home with the kids, while my dad worked the day away in the city. Come the end of his shift, my mom would get us in the car and we'd go to pick my dad up from work. Upon our arrival, I would go into the establishment. Now remember, I was a small child then. I don't think I was even in school yet, so I was quite young. But I would go into the shop, people there knew me, even though I couldn't remember them. But that didn't matter. I wanted to see my dad, and often times I'd find him. Somewhere in the shop, covered in grease from head-to-toe, and I'd stand nearby and watch him work until the quitting time whistle sang it's song.
That shit would never fly, these days. A small child, allowed to roam through a busy machine shop, complete with whirring and grinding machines. Large quantities of loose steel and grease and other chemicals wafting through the air. Fork lifts and hand carts and cranes all moving throughout. A thousand and one potential life-ending scenarios for anyone, nevertheless a four year old boy. That shit would never fly today.
A few years ago, I worked for a farm/industrial retail company, and if you forgot to wear your steel toed boots to work, they'd send your ass home to get them. There was NO EXCEPTIONS to that rule, and rightfully so. I remember one night dropping a heavy electric motor on my foot, and it bent the toe cap enough to cut into a couple of my toes. I never needed medical attention, but I might have sharted a little. That was a scary moment. After that, I managed to drop a number of shit on my toes, even managing to break a toe once or twice in the process. Today, though, in the job I have now. Safety isn't so much of a concern.
I shouldn't say it's NOT a concern, but the rules are a f*ck of a lot more relaxed. My old job at the retail place, you couldn't use the fork lift until a thorough inspection was done on it. Where I am now, the seat belt doesn't work. The horn doesn't work and there's no back up beacon. But so f*cking what. There's only two of us working in the whole building. Ninety-nine percent of the time, if I'm in the warehouse, my co-worker is in the front office, and that's the way I like it. (I like to sing really really loud and if it doesn't annoy me, it WOULD annoy him.)
I don't even have to wear steel toed boots, either. Thank Christ for that. I f*cking hate steel toed boots, and given the fact that the composite materials have vacated the heavy weight of the former boots, I still hate wearing them. My middle name is "Danger", and that's how I likes to live my life. Always running the risk of dropping some kind of shit on my foot.
Besides. Chicks dig scars. Maybe not on one's feet, but chicks dig scars!
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