Poland, Forklift Driver

Hey all,

Poland, 35, built his own house in Poland, works here because a good wage back home is about 100 pounds a week, so making three and a half times that for 6 weeks works out very well for him for most of the following year.  Very little English but very funny with the little he did know.  Myself and Canada convinced he would be hysterical if you could understand him.  Also proud of English he did pick up, such as “Yes, yes,”, and “No, no,” his standard responses to any question he was asked – he would try them both until the expression on the questioner's face seemed to indicate that he was making some kind of sense.  Also such phrases as “ Vodka: sleep good!”  “Open the door!” when I forgot to do so to the pallet box, “Close the door!” when I forgot to do so to the pallet box, and “Exit?” which was his way of asking if we had finished the pallet yet to which I would respond either “Exit,” or something like “Twenty three five,” which meant 23 more five foot trees.  Also picked up a few other phrases of the Queen's English that Canada helpfully taught him, eg., “Motherf***”  “f*** off”, “f*** you,” and so forth, not to mention “Very nice,” and “Sexy time!” (complete with exaggerated Borat accent and serious nods from Canada when Poland got the pronunciation right).

The night he got picked up he had to walk, in the dark, through the mile of snow between us and the main road – Canada and I offered to help him with his luggage, to which he responded “Yes, yes, thank you,” but later showed that he had not understood what we were offering as I had to physically drag his backpack off his shoulder through his protests (“No, no, no!”) and Canada had to physically pick up the back of his suitcase (“No, no... thank you... yes, yes”), which he was dragging through the minus God knows what snow in the middle of the night in jeans and a pair of dress shoes.  Poles are tough.

When we got him to the road he said: “Good team!  Dream team!” having obviously worked on the phrase for days, then gave us both firm handshakes, shoulder clasp with other hand, serious nod.  All very touching.  Good guy, only downside was that after I moved in with him, discovered he snored.  Spent the better part of four weeks sleeping on the lounge room floor, on cushions from the couch.  Which was really not that bad at all, as it turned out.

Forklift Driver was a fantastic bloke, pushing 50, and basically ran the entire Christmas tree operation from his mobile phone while driving the forklift, with which he did things that did not seem physically possible and reduced all onlookers to amazed and appreciative silence.  Every place like this that I have ever worked at seems to have a bloke like this, the linchpin of the business, tireless, efficient.  Very good to work with, so emphatically Scottish that he even managed to laugh with a Scottish accent, which he did mostly, as was always in good humour except when Boss annoyed him with one of his wilder innovations or perhaps one day when I was so cold that the numbness in my fingers and toes was spreading above my elbows and knees and in a fit of pique suggested that the Romans had the right idea with Hadrian's wall, that the entire God-forsaken frozen hell should be left to the nutters who, by choice, run about in this weather without underwear while wearing what is, at the end of the day, a dress, and that Macbeth's willingness to actually fight for possession of this land just shows how completely nuts he really was.  He came back the following day with the comment that, yes, Hadrian's wall was a great idea : someone needed to keep the British in their place.

Photos.  1.  Morning.  2.  Poland and Canada loading a tree onto forklift, before snow.  3. Truck full of pallets, before snow.  4.  Sunset.  5. Typical view of Forklift Driver.  On the corner of the shed you can see a pole on which hangs the replacement to the floodlight that nearly embedded itself in my skull.

Cheers, B.