You can generally be sure it's Friday when you originally plan to call it a day early, but then everything just goes wrong. That's why I got a creeping bad feeling when I witnessed my boss sail through the electric cow fence with his tractor and hanger. Under a thin layer of powder snow there evidently was a perfectly usable ice skating rink, and all though you would think a big tractor could manage most surfaces, enormous big rubber tires really doesn't do you any favours on pure ice (if you don't have chains on them). "At least it wasn't me," I thought smugly and snapped a few photos. Bu
t when I later managed to fall over, twice, in quick succession, I could say without a doubt that it had to be Friday. Hence I wasn't even surprised when I tried to lift a wooden crate with the tractor, and I managed to break it. Apparently it had frozen solid to the ground, and when I hadn't been able to lift it on the first attempt, I'd moved the forks, managed to jam them further up and torn off a few boards. Angrily I told my co-workers to shut the hell up, I went off to fetch a hammer and fix the damn thing, and gave the job of moving the not-broken crate to the right to someone more capable. Or so I thought. This crate was of course even more stubbornly frozen to the ground than the first one, but Christian didn't give up that easily.
He tried to jiggle and lift it a few times, but it didn't move an inch, until it suddenly leapt up like it was being catapulted, and did a spectacular backflip. I never thought a crate could move that fast. When my long, painful fit of hysterical laughter had seized, we generally decided that all crates could go to hell, announced that the weekend had begun, and went home. Wisest move of the day.
t when I later managed to fall over, twice, in quick succession, I could say without a doubt that it had to be Friday. Hence I wasn't even surprised when I tried to lift a wooden crate with the tractor, and I managed to break it. Apparently it had frozen solid to the ground, and when I hadn't been able to lift it on the first attempt, I'd moved the forks, managed to jam them further up and torn off a few boards. Angrily I told my co-workers to shut the hell up, I went off to fetch a hammer and fix the damn thing, and gave the job of moving the not-broken crate to the right to someone more capable. Or so I thought. This crate was of course even more stubbornly frozen to the ground than the first one, but Christian didn't give up that easily. 
He tried to jiggle and lift it a few times, but it didn't move an inch, until it suddenly leapt up like it was being catapulted, and did a spectacular backflip. I never thought a crate could move that fast. When my long, painful fit of hysterical laughter had seized, we generally decided that all crates could go to hell, announced that the weekend had begun, and went home. Wisest move of the day.
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