Wow! Today was a wonderfully thrilling day for me. As by now all of you should know that I am working as a technician for the SAF; a severely and sadly underpaid one. So as per normal, I reported to work at 7.45a.m. at Pasir Ris camp (which is also the camp where comando recruits are trained) perfectly clean in my civillian attire and having no idea whatsoever of what was installed for me.
Upon reaching the workshop, I changed into my coveralls and, thus, the sexy beast was awoken! However, that is another story and shall not come into this entry. The earlier part of the morning was rather uneventful and had me for the most part just meandering the grounds chatting to my colleagues. Then a 5-ton man truck booked in and which meant the end of our meandering and having to do actual manual labour.
Now we come to the part which requires a certain amount of explanation. We have just finished our training at OETI and were just posted to Pasir Ris for our OJE. Over in OETI, we merely learned the basics and did not have to do any form of servicing any vehicle. So now that you know this, try imagining the sense of trepidation I felt when the IC told us that we were supposed to perform a 20000km servicing on that hippopotamus of a vehicle. The first task that we did was to drain the oil sump; that is the engine oil. Perhaps I felt that I was too clean, or maybe the putrid stench of the locker room had dampened the function of my grey matter, but whatever it was, I found myself enthusiastically volunteering to carry out the draining of the oil.
In a moment, I was nicely nestled under the chasis of the truck facing the drain plug that from this angle did not seem all that intimidating after all. It was not until someone pushed a barrel with the potential of holding significant volume under the sump that I realised the true potential severity of the situation.
"How much oil will be drained from the oil sump?" I asked my dear IC whom I noticed was wisely positioned a considerable distance from me. So too were the other veterans, save for my fellow peers who were curiously and ignorantly peeking under the truck, barely an arm's breath from yours truly.
"I think like got somewhere alound 18 litres like that," he replied in his amazing Queen's English.
I pondered.
One of the specialist passed me the Allen key and briskly retreated. I proceeded valiantly to loosen the drain plug, but to no avail. So another sergeant advanced briefly, handed me a hammer, and likewise hurriedly retraced his steps.
Eventually, by the coaxing power of Thor's choice weapon, the plug yeilded and the torque was broken. This meant that I could now use finger power to losen it the rest of the way, which was precisely what I comenced to do. In the blink of an eye and give and take part thereof, the plug popped free, and out flowed what looked like 100% cocoa fondue chocolate sauce. Since it was so sudden, as I have previously mentioned, my whole right hand was bathed utterly with the unwholesome liquid. It felt warm and slippery, and weird as it may sound, intrinsically comfortable. Other than that, it was the epitome of putrefaction. The smell was worse than cow's fart and it was not entirely pleasant to look at either; unless, of course, one were Isaac Newton and can see the beauty of the streamlined and non-viscous flow amidst such distressing moments. I now wholly understand the discomfort of Spider Man when Venom claimed him.
Inevitably, some oil spilled around the bucket, but thanks to the sexy beast within me, I managed to prevent even a single drop of oil from violating my coveralls or any other part of me but my unfortunate right hand.
The Utterances Of The Sexy Beast: Chapter One
Randomised at 9:38:00 pm