Whilst begging for employment at a job agency, Juliette - my consultant -
asked me whether I'd consider some labouring.
"Yes - anything." I replied.
"What, even tunnel cleaning?"
"Yes," I replied, without really contemplating what she had just said
"anything."
So, at 7pm that evening, I was herded into a bus with 12 other travelling
reprobates who weren't quite as desperate for a job as I was - they were
there because they had a working visa, but seemed to have forgotten that it
would be pretty difficult to get any work in Australia if they couldn't
speak the language. This was to be all they could get, and I figured that I
was in for a pretty long night.
After arriving at the site next to the M5 tunnel, beside Sydney Airport, we
were given an induction on how to use a giant squeegie. We were then split
up into groups of three, and sent down into the tunnel - which was closed
for the evening - with a local inbred who was 'in-charge' of us. The inbred
then sprayed the walls with detergent, and Bart the Dutch Guy, closely
followed by Martin the German, then loosened the dirt from the wall with
their giant sponges on 1m poles -the "squeegies". I figured that I'd been
fortunate, as I was charged with rinsing the dirt from the wall with a
high-powered-pressure-hose that was attached to a giant mobile water tank, a
bit like a small petrol tanker, but with water instead of petrol. I got to
pretend I was a fireman, whilst the two continentals did all the hard work!
However, this 'fun' (and I write that word with my tongue-FIRMLY
implanted-in-my-cheek) was not to last....
After we'd collectively cleaned our first 300m of tunnel, our 'leader'
informed us that we'd have to swap jobs to avoid fatigue. I'd now be
squeegie-man number one, Bart would be squeegie-man number two and Martin
would now be the hose-master. The redneck remained on detergent spraying
duties throughout the night. It was at this point when I realised that I'd
made a SERIOUS error in judgement. I'd loosened dirt from no more than 150m
of tunnel wall - collectively we were to clean about 4km that night - and I
was absolutely shattered, soaked to the skin (Martin couldn't work the hose
properly) and anticipating 7.5 more solid hours of this. This was going to
hurt.....
...and hurt it did - I developed huge blisters all over my hands and almost
every muscle in my body began to scream in agony (and that was after only
ten minutes - it's amazing how easy it is to lose your fitness while
travelling)!!!! This pain was to continue for the next 7.5 hours, and a few
days after as well!
There were, however, two highlights to this 'experience' that made me very
happy I said 'yes' (and no, it wasn't the money as $16/hour is a pretty damn
long way from being "worth it")....
As I mentioned above, tunnel cleaning gives you blisters, and the only real
way to relieve the pain in the tunnel is to rinse your hands under the cool,
wet, high pressure hose. This is easily done - as I demonstrated to my
colleagues - by placing your hands in front of the jet as you are rinsing
the wall off. When Martin got hold of the hose after about 2 hours, pointed
the nozzle in the direction of his groinal region, fired, and seemed
surprised by the funny sensation he had received by firing a
high-pressure-hose into his loins, I laughed so hard it physically hurt me.
Dying to share this wonderful piece of Jackass-style, self-mutilation comedy
with someone, I turned to Bart the Dutchman, tears in my eyes, and pointed
at the stupid German, now standing there with the hose in his hands and
water all over the top of his jeans. However, Bart was unmoved by the
hilarity of the situation and no smile - not even a smirk - permeated his
lips. I pulled myself together after about 10 minutes and carried on
scrubbing. 10 minutes later, and it was Bart's turn to take the hose....
Now, tunnel cleaning can be thirsty work. I was made aware of this
beforehand and came duly prepared with a bottle of water. Martin had a
bottle of Coke. Bart brought nothing, and when he felt thirsty - completely
failing to notice the error of Martin's ways - simply turned the high
pressure hose on inside his mouth - and very nearly blew all his teeth out.
Once again, I was reduced to hysterical fits of laughter, all by myself, in
the middle of the M5 tunnel.
The next day I missed the bus to the tunnel (really unfortunately, but I did
try)! The following day my girlfriend refused to let me leave her flat to
go tunnel cleaning and my promising career was over before it had even
started.
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