Bosco Twisted My Arm
Meeting Bosco
Around Easter of 2021, I started a factory job. I'd gotten there early as I was supposed to but I wasn't given my employee number yet, which is the pass code to get into the factory.
It also meant that I couldn't clock in either, but that's a side issue. There were issues with the fingerprint scanner at the best of times. One staff member tried to claim it was because I had shiny fingers, which was nonsense. She left the job a week later.
Because I couldn't get into the factory, I looked for alternative options. I noticed that a light was on inside what turned out to be the staff breakroom along the side of the building.
I knocked on the window and Bosco opened the door and let me in; we've been friends ever since.
His proper first name is Jean-Bosco, with the French pronounciation. His surname is long and from somewhere in an African country. He can speak 9 different African dialects but Swahili is the language he speaks most with the African people who live here. He's also fluent in French and would sometimes say some of the very few phrases I knew.
When he's not working at the food factory, he's a comm unity volunteer. He also coaches a local African soccer team.
His spoken English is good but his comprehension can be a little lacking at times, but I put that down to Australian culture, our slang and sarcasm but I'll get to that later. It just means speaking slower and clearer occasionally when the wires get crossed.
The Factory
At work, we shared a team leader named Diana, but we called her Di. Di was a short blonde haired woman with an anger problem, but if you got on her good side you were golden. I didn't get on her good side.
Bosco was the first person I worked with counting and stacking trays. The trays were metal and a metre wide and they carried smaller trays of food along the conveyor belt into the large oven upstairs. The oven would frequently stop unexpectedly, meaningwe would have to rack the trays on a trolley.
Apparently the oven has been like that for the last 6 years.
Occasionally Di would send Bosco to the washroom, a room where all of the metal trays and plastic food tubs were to be hosed out. He hated the isolation, but at the same time hated being yelled at. Bosco once told me "I beat the bosses." but I suspect it was a joke made out of denial.
Di would micro manage everyone to the nth degree, and I'd often find myself being told not to "stand around doing nothing" a split second after I'd stopped to catch my breath after lifting something heavy, while others were under the umbrella of her protection.
I'd figuratively pray to be sent to the washroom.
She saw it as punishment, I saw it as an escape.
Every day I felt drained at the end of my shift and
I am glad I don't work there any more.
The Beers
A long overdue hernia operation put an end to the factory job in April '22, and the company held me in a state of limbo for months, so I thought that I would I would never see Bosco again.
I was minding my business on the train home, when I heard someone say my name. I looked up to see a bald African man, smiling and enthusiastically saying my name again.
It was Bosco excited to see me again. He had just finished work and was on his way to Salisbury to have a few beers at a local pub.
He offered to buy me a drink.
I said "OK, you've twisted my arm!".
He didn't understand my little joke and asked me what I meant. Bosco has only been in Australia for 5 years and the Africans here can be somewhat insular and so their comprehension of Australian humour can be lacking somewhat.
"I wouldn't do that. I'm a Christian." he protested.
I laughed.
We walked to the pub while I explained the joke.
We ordered drinks and went and sat down.
He eventually understood what I was saying as I repeated the phrase "twisting my arm" repeatedly in context.
Essentially twisting someone's arm is forcing them to do something they don't want to do. But in Australian culture, there's an ironic twist (pun unintended) to the way it's used.
"Can I twist your arm?" means "Can I tempt you?" (with something usually considered "naughty" or highly prized, like some chocolate, sweet treats, alcohol, etc.).
Twisted again (sorry, not sorry!) saying "You've twisted my arm!" is a way of expressing enthusiasm for what's being offered.
"Twisting arm accepted" he said.
We talked about work, and how he wasn't comfortable working alone in the washroom and how his wife earns more than him. I joked that everyone earns more than him. The factory pays just over minimum wage.
As we talked, one of the staff brought out plates that contained a spring roll, samosa, and a small dimsim with a dollop of chilli sauce.
I said "She twisted my arm".
He laughed.
It was good catching up with Bosco again, and he can twist my arm anytime.
Thank you for reading.
Shaidon
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