Boxed
I worked in a warehouse for a week where they flattened out old cardboard boxes and redistributed them for wholesalers. It was complete physical agony, but it was the mental pain that weighed heaviest.
I was working with a guy who’d been there for 20 years (and didn’t even take time off on Christmas Eve). His forearms had become strong enough to bend girders, but his mind had become softer than custard. He told me he dreamt about boxes, saw boxes when he closed his eyes and could taste boxes when he ate. Every 20 minutes or so, he would shout “BOXES,” at the top of his voice, before continuing his running commentary on the forthcoming alien invasion. As far as I know, the poor bastard’s still there.
Sam Jordison
samjordison@hotmail.com
"I do nothing and then I do something. But it's taken years of investigating idleness in all its forms to be able to achieve this. My discipline is borne out of concerted study of idleness."