Some light entertainment and a little true story from my past.
A long, long time ago.
I dropped the wrench, wiped the sweat from my greasy forehead and - trying to stifle my rising panic - looked for a way out, an escape from the filthy, oily mob that surrounded me, eager for my entrails. There was a bright yellow grease monkey trolly within leaping distance... and I lept.
Under the truck axle and towards my escape I went. The gap of light between big sliding doors, beckoned.
Almost made it. Two brawny yobs, grabbing from behind, wrenched my skinny arms behind my back, nearly dislocating the shoulder on one. I cried out in agony but it was quickly stifled as a filthy, oily rag was stuffed into my mouth and a bag went over my head. I felt what I thought were shackles, bolted to my wrists, which were now pinned behind my back.
The sudden electrical racket of a welding machine caused me to jump. The earth was clamped to the shackle and the bolts, welded tight. I was led out into a courtyard. It was over 40c...and thrown into a hot, old sump oil bath.
I spat lumpy oil from my mouth and I thought the torture had finished. My heart raced as I was yanked out and led to what appeared to be a sling hanging in the centre of the square, the shape being terrifyingly familiar through the hessian material over my nut. I was momentarily grateful it was wrapped and tied around my waist and not my neck.
A truck started somewhere and I was soon dangling from twenty feet in the air on the end of a crane. I watched the oil dripping to the stinking hot bitumen below and the perpetrators ran off. I watched through the bottom of the bag at the odd passer by who barely glanced up. Obviously in cahoots with the murderous mongrels.
Twenty minutes passed. It was difficult to breath. I started to go fuzzy and I felt like I was cooking. The pores in my skin blocked. The temperature radiating from the soft, black bitumen must have been approaching 60c.
Suddenly a man looked up. Through the blurry sweat, I recognised the foreman of the yard and he yelled.
'You apprentices. get the bleep out here and get this kid down'
They all came running out. I was let down, slapped on the back and angle grinded free.
My initiation, after my first week as deisel motor mechanic apprentice in 1976, was over.
(20min delay)