“What day is today?” my workmate asked me while we were having our smoko this morning. (His name is Roger. He will be turning 63 this August. Incidentally, we have the same birth date, and he’s exactly 4 months older than my mom!)
“It’s Monday,” I answered.
“Uh... o rite...” he nonchalantly murmured, peeped under his eyeglasses and immediately wrote down the mortality count on our daily record.
He asked me the same question last Friday when I reminded him that the next day (Saturday) was his day off. He was actually surprised to know that another week was over because he said he doesn’t really care to keep track of the date, day or time.
“Uhmn... after work, I go home, feed my animals, visit my garden, have my tea in the evening, sleep, wake-up, have a toast and a cup of coffee... and come to work, that’s it!” he simply said.
While Roger is living in oblivion, I am obliged to live the exact opposite... I have to order the feed two days before I need it; so if I want a feed delivery on a Wednesday I must place my order on a Monday. I have to be aware of the current date to keep myself updated of the age of our flock so I can give them the correct ration, the ideal drinking-water pressure, the required temperature, ventilation and length of light. I have to know the time of chicken harvest so I can turn the feed lines off at least four and a half hours before the actual bird catching, otherwise the dressing plant will complain about their full crop.
Honestly, I don’t know if Roger is happy yet in some ways, I envy him.