Humour Column: Spookier working in refinery than cemetery
Folks, this week, while compiling an article for Halloween, I recalled my time working in a Gladstone cemetery and how I was often asked if I'd seen any ghosts.
Look, I'm fairly certain Gladstone's deceased had far better things to do than annoy me.
Besides, I had my hands full dealing with the living each day.
The closest my workmate came to seeing a ghost was the morning I left my white, paper overalls hanging in the shower stall to dry.
When he opened the door he came face to face with 'Casper' and I'm sure he squirted a little bit of urine as he danced about on the spot shrieking.
I was laughing so hard I could barely keep my eyes open but managed to inhale enough air to get away from him as he lunged at me.
If hadn't made a hasty exit that day I'm pretty sure I'd have joined Gladstone's dearly departed; in an unmarked grave.
Still, overall (pardon the pun) working in a cemetery was generally quite peaceful.
The one time I got really spooked though was working at a local refinery during a night-shift.
At 3am I was shipped off to check the levels in the oil tanks which were located in a very isolated part of the plant.
As I pottered around the bunded area I felt the hairs on the back of my neck rise, I was super edgy and couldn't work out why.
Eventually I realised it was the deathly silence that was unnerving me.
There were literally no sounds at the tank farm, no chirping crickets, nothing.
I'm a little ashamed to admit this, but my imagination went wild with visions of the undead surrounding me.
I finished checking the tanks at a speed that would have delighted my supervisor, then armed with my little pen light I did some scouting around.
There were no zombie footprints but there were plenty of wild dog paw prints. Some of them were massive.
When it dawned on me they were probably watching me from the nearby long grass, I boldly skedaddled.
If given the choice, I'd rather face a ghost any day than have my face ripped off by a living dog.