Iran2Danger

World's Most Dangerous Jobs

Give them to me. I do not want you doing it.

Every year, a few 'young-and-dumb' are killed crabbing during the fishing season in the ocean. I do not want you losing your loved one. I do not want you grieving. I'll go instead.

The hateful laugh at my efforts, then laugh at my non-efforts. They laugh at my offers, then laugh because my offers were rejected by themselves, claiming, "he never offered me anything." They laugh in scorn, addicted to hate.

Nobody cares about me, unless it's for a photo-op. But they do have those they care about. Spare them ... send me instead. If I don't return, it will 'make your day.' But I will return, unharmed, mission accomplished, merely to spite you, only to be hatefully scorned again, as usual.

I roll up my sleeves and do what needs be done, regardless of weather, location, stench, filth or difficulty. And because I accomplish, I am hated. And because I do not complain, my efforts are scorned and I am made miserable. Now that, I do complain about, and then I am hated for complaining about complaints.

Because I work faster and am more productive than all others. Even the most mentally challenging tasks, the 'genius-experts' laugh in scorn, undermining objectives and outcomes with nonstop complaints over knit-picked inconsequencials. "Dot out of place." "Typo." "Smell." "Word." "Early." "Late." "Weather." "Clothes." "Sounds." "Not enough talk." "Too much talk." "Laughs." "Doesn't laugh." "Humor." "No humor." "Thoughts." "Mannerisms." "Opinions." "Paperwork." Any excuse will do, and production comes to a complete and utter halt, while the hate-campaign against me becomes 'top-priority' instead.

In labored tasks, I have to slow-down, or co-workers hate me. "You're showing us up. Knock it off!" I've heard it all my life. I want to get the job done, not fart around. I want productivity, not intentional delays. I don't care how hard it is, I want to get it done and go enjoy other things. Cuts, scrapes and a few bruises are not life-threatening nor a reason to be paid to stand around seeking pity. I learned long ago to be careful. To not get injured. And to limit injury. There are people that won't hike in shorts on a hot day because of the possibility of a 'scrape' or bug-bite. This attitude prevents enjoyment, entertainment and on-the-job work-ethics. Meanwhile, they wear baggy-clothing around machines in their so-called 'infinite-wisdoms.'

Scratches and bug-bites are inconsequential to accomplishment. There are chemicals to reduce confrontations between bugs and humans, and these same people claim the chemicals are too 'caustic,' preventing action, limiting production -- a drain instead of a gain on family, friends, businesses and society as a whole.

I am always concerned about safety, but I'm not going to putz-around with ridiculous safety-equipment for simple tasks that are completed in less time than it takes to learn how to adorn the safety equipment, work with it and put it away. The task itself could be accomplished with zero additional expense and a fraction of the time, with time left over to do ten other things. It depends on the situation, obviously. I have enough common-sense to SENSE the obvious.

-- time's the enemy, it's ticking evermore;
-- time's the enemy, it's knocking at your door;
-- ticking ever more; knocking at your door ...
(from a song I wrote years ago)

"What about the one time you need it?" (safety-equipment) What about it? I got a simple scratch? A scrape? A bruise? A burn? A bug-bite? Coughed once or twice? Got something on my clothes? A stain? Dry skin? A twig in my hair? Smelled something briefly? So what? I'm not talking about high-wire acts. I'm not talking about radiation-burns. I'm not talking about acid spills. I'm not talking about bio-weapons exposures. I'm not talking about the Ebola virus or hemmoragic fevers. I'm not talking about explosives. I'm not talking about race-car driving. I'm not talking about flying a kite on a metal wire in a lightening storm. I'm talking about common-sense. I'm talking serving and protecting.

Do you hate me now?

"More than ever," say those addicted to hate. Any excuse will do. "No, we're concerned -- errrr, now, and don't want you to go, errrr, now." Sure. Whatever. Save your fellow-haters from the dangerous assignments and send me instead. I don't want anybody grieving. I'll perform Chopin later. I'll go. I'll save somebody grief. I'll save the company money, make more myself, by saving the life of one of your cloned haters in the process. I'll run there. Although a completely alien-concept to you, it's called unconditional-love for a reason.

Iran2danger, so you don't have to, night and day.