Overtime

by Deepto Roy

It’s backbreaking work you see.

Each batch has to be individually processed. Manually checked. One by one.

It’s all out in the field and bitterly cold. So all you work with are flashlights, which are dim, and bloody flicker. Gives me a fucking headache every time. Then you have to hold the bloody thing between your teeth as you work.

And in that dim light, you also have to figure out what’s actually gold and what’s nothing but gold plated fake rubbish.

All that effort and most of the time you end up with coloured tin or enamel or fucking steel.

Crafty buggers, our supply chain.

So you shift and you poke and you prod. And when you find the genuine article, it’s plier time.

“Plink” – you add to the pile.

And on to the next one.

The trains have been coming north more frequently now. So there’s literally tonnes to shift through. Every fucking night.

And my fucking boss. You won’t see Herr Hoss with a pair of pliers in his hands, and a flashlight between his teeth, wading around the dark fields in the middle of the night.

No Sir. For him, it’s the cosy fire and the glass of schnapps.

‘Arbeit Macht Frei’ – the sign at the gate says. ‘Work will set you free.’ Well in Der Fuhrer’s army, you certainly work for free.