es, the guy who had the balls to face up to Work Safe, who argued for five years to change one question. Victory had never been so sweet for him. And he referred me to do my Rigging and Dogging course at a place in Midlands. Some fucked up name that you are never going to remember. I can't remember LIcences 4 Work if my life depended on it either. But K.I. Man, what is K.I.? Where is K.I? Give me a slice of K.I. I'll even add a K.C. and we can even have a KICK of K.I. Adam is, was a great teacher. He passed me on my Forklift Picker License. He was there for my practical Forklift test. He and Barry were bitching about the Canadian teacher. 'Leave that sad cunt alone,' I said, adding, 'he can't be that bad because I passed the EWP and Forklift courses.' I still hadn't passed the fork lift license course. A few hours earlier, that lean and mean, man of 65, who could do 100 pushups on each arm, turn around his forklift on a dime and who also knew how to teach, had yet to pass me on the practical. He passed us all on the theory. A fine man, outstanding. 'I'm gorgeous.' And he fucking was. Not a gut hanging off his frame. No stoop to be seen. Just a man in his sixties who decided to enter his sixties as a man in his sixties. 'I'm the best instructor here,' he said to me, as I did a burnout on the forklift. 'Nothing like self promotion,' I said. He looked at me. That mean, burning look before saying, 'You cheeky cunt, I should fail you for that.' I passed. I shouldn't have passed, Then again no one should have passed. Yet this was Fast Food Education. Everyone needed their fix. And these courses were mine. And Barry knew that. 'If you can lift that load up to the top, then bring it down, safely, I'll give you your fork lift license.' I tried my best. But I kept on hearing a noise. A loud fucking noise. 'Bring it down.' Bring what fucking down. 'Bring the fucking load down.' Fuck, I said, 'I thought I was driving the picker.' 'You weren't,' said Adam. Of course I wasn't. But I had no idea why I didn't bring the load down safely closer to the ground. It didn't matter. I was going to be passed anyways. I went along with the charade. I stressed, panicked, took some more pills. And here I am preparing for a second sitting of the Scaffold test. But I'm not here to write about that. This is a tribute to an instructor that even the late Hunter Thompson would be moved by. “There he goes. One of God's own prototypes. A high-powered mutant of some kind never even considered for mass production. Too weird to live, and too rare to die.” Then walks in the Director.He is the 20 percent off man. I couldn't resist and had to enroll in new courses. Who didn't want 20 percent off their courses? And he was the brains and muscle of this establishment. He was god.Adam and Barry bantered back and forth how they were both chastised by him for failing to instruct one point properly. One fucking point. It was about exit and egress. 'It's the same fucking word,' said the Director, and never forget it. Dirty Grandpa hasn't. But Adam, he's been challenged. if there is a way, he will defend his way of teaching to the end. Until then, you can all fuck off! If I pass my scaffolding, the Director said to look him up. He said I'd be a good teacher. I said I was already doing the Cert four in Vocational Training. He said good, 'you can teach every subject you learnt.'
