Fridges Fridgerating Faithfully

Companionship in invisible places

We've spent a bunch of time in these industrial parks lately, working on the camper. I can feel my memories being erased even while I'm sitting here looking at the rows and rows of warehouses. Spaces designed to be anti-aesthetic. Like a city block wearing an invisibility cloak. Do not perceive me!

There's some beauty in it. Industry. Activity. We slept outside the mechanic's workshop and woke this morning surrounded by a herd of electricians' vans, the men collecting their work orders for the day. They move as a pack, first to the office, then to the café for breakfast, then to the job site. They eat their toast and coffee at tables pushed together in a long row like a birthday party. Beautiful.

Can't help thinking these spaces are supposed to be invisible. To the tourists, certainly. But also invisible to the upper classes. These industrial zones are like the service entrance in your fancy apartment block. Not seen and not heard, like the nighttime janitor polishing the lino floors of the hallway, the maintenance man keeping everything at a high state of shine, keeping the lights on, shipping the parts to the factories that make the components for the machines that keep the air conditioner humming quietly, keep the fridges fridgerating faithfully.

We're in this café, ten to eight, the electricians have just left. There's an old guy drinking his coffee, roving back and forth between two slot machines. I wonder what's his story. He's not so old. Maybe still working. Recently retired? What happens to these working boys when they age out of the team? Then what? Is there a place for them? At least here in the south of Europe you can assume the answer is yes. Village squares, cigars, afternoon walks, social clubs, grandkids crawling all over the place like puppies. Nobody is meant to live alone. Brief moments of solitude during the day, sure, a breath of peace here and there. But life is made for companionship, "com" + "pan" = our shared bread. One loaf, many mouths. Again, like puppies, all lined up sucking at mum's six titties simultaneously.

Maybe that's it. That's what I see here in this visually nullified industrial zone. There's the electric crackle of togetherness. I'm inside a living cell, fantastic machines floating by, everything busy, interacting, exchanging, everything eating energy and shitting waste. All these million little parts feeding the superorganism, the megastructure, logistics networks like nervous systems, roads like bones, pulsating skeleton surging with blood and guts and life and life and beautiful life. Sad, terrifying, meaningless, thrusting, glorious life. Never still for more than two seconds.

Beautiful.