Sticky

Today, at work, I had to read over four pages of documents citing seven essential steps of using a stick, and then print my name, sign, and then date a form to certify that I am qualified to use a stick. Afterwards, my acting supervisor and manager both have to sign the document, and then it has to be filed away in my company record.

Let me assure you that this was not in response to me using the stick inappropriately. This was an official company document that anyone who wishes to use a stick must sign in order to pick up the stick.

The stick in question is similar to a metal hoe about three feet long, with a hollow metal handle that it’s welded to, and painted a garish orange colour which would make it visibly stand out in any environment except the one I work in. There are no moving parts. It probably cost about five bucks to make. It’s used only for pulling pieces of lumber forward when they’re out of reach. We previously used any sturdy wooden stick we could find with a metal hook screwed on the end. They worked fine, but they were banned when some chucklehead in the States was using one to grab something at the top of a long ladder, and fell to death. The stick and lack of training was blamed for the fatality instead of the person being a clumsy dumbass. We weren’t allowed to use stick for a total of six months until they found an alternative. Any stick found were destroyed and the people found using them were disciplined. It was akin to being caught with a firearm on a plane.

The instructions for the stick use colour photos. We’re warned to inspect the stick for damage prior to every use. Any stick found lacking must be tagged as out of service with a specified official out of service tag. When using the stick, we’re told to use a “staggered stance.” Customers or persons not certified are forbidden from using the stick at all times.

This is clearly meant to be serious business. Shit can an will go down if you don’t use the stick properly. It was like reading the instruction manual for the Wii, where about twenty pages are devoted to the awesome things you should never do with the Wii-chucks, like throw it at the TV, knock over lamps, or strangle a ninja to death.

We were warned never to write on the stick or put stickers on it. Previously, we’d broken the hoe off of a stick, and I had painted in green like a Riddler cane. Then someone came along and turned it into a Rio Carnival pimp cane. When they threw that out, a part of me died inside. A part I can never get back. Apparently, I should have been fired immediately. Now I wait in fear for THEM to come, and claim me, and I shall work no more.