Trying to ignore the throbbing pain in my feet and ankles from standing for 13 hours, I shifted my weight as I continued, head down, eyes twitching from potato to potato. By my fool-proof calculations, I was supposed to be out of there between 5 pm and 6pm. But I had not factored in the machine breaking down 5 times, each time for about 10 minutes, leaving us standing around and waiting, occasionally tossing a potato into a trash bin to "clean up" and look busy. I had worked out a mathematical equation to figure out how long the potato torture would last; divide the tons of potatoes for the day by .4 to figure out the number of minutes of work, then divide that by 60 for figure out the total hours. As I said, it is usually pretty accurate, but today, as it was my last day, the machine was guaranteed to break down multiple times, which I had not factored in. At least we were grading purple potatoes, something I had never done in the month I had worked here. They were really beautiful, and I had snagged a few to make a gourmet meal back in Adelaide. The machine had started up again, and I was at the front, sorting the majority of the rotten, arms moving furiously to turn the potatoes off the table. Working, singing the same song in my head for the 6th time today, I heard someone cry "green light!" I looked up, and sure enough, the green light was flashing, signalling the last of the potatoes had been put into the washer and would be making their way to us in less than 10 minutes, and signalling the end of my potato grading career. I felt my head fill with jubilation, but I forced myself to continue, glancing up occasionally just to make sure it was real. Within minutes, the potatoes slowed to a crawl, then stopped. The belts stopped, and we spent a couple minutes sweeping and picking up scattered potatoes. Then someone said, "you're done," and I forced myself not to jump and skip as I went to clock out.
Today I move back to Adelaide. I am happy!
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