Fascinating conversation today. So late into the season as well. I had heard about the dams, but never met someone who worked there.
The woman mentioned it in a conversation about electricity prices, and I insisted that she tell me more. She agreed after a promise of free drinks.
It was a pain that Zaria drunk decent sparkling wine. But we gained a cool story.
Z: 'It’s amazing how little staff are needed. There are about two thousand parnsipheads at the bottom of the generator, and only five of us. I am on holiday this week, and they haven't even bothered to replace me.
Our workspace sits fifty feet up at the top of the wall. Even at that height we require headphones to block out the undead. There are two gardeners, and three pushers. I garden.
We burn through a lot of water.
The plants trail ninety percent down the wall. We work in a constant flow to keep them at that ratio. That tasty foliage has bright flowers and big leaves, the parsniphead equivalent of steak and champagne. I sometimes wonder if they get frustrated, with their life’s desire inches away from the tips of their fingers.
The pushers are stockier. All that pushing makes their bodies advertisements for human muscles. This is crucial. The wheels those parsnipheads push round soon get slippy with blood. Far too easy to get a rotting foot stuck between the mechanism. But with the help of a pusher sending them back, the parsniphead will soon return to work. If they get too gammy, we can put in a call for a replacement. A new one arrives within twenty four hours.
With all of us working together, those wheels spin on time and at pace. All the way down to the generators below. We create enough electricity to keep the town buzzing even with all the radiators on. Those with swimming pools enjoy heated laps in late winter. Those with beer fridges sip cold cans in mid summer.
Parsnip power will be standard soon. The savings and advantages are too great. One of the great stories of humanity is our amazing ability to find new sources of creating energy. From wood to radiation to zombie, we keep the lights on. And why shouldn’t we turn The Haircut into an amazing resource? Why shouldn’t all those dead footsteps mean something?
I’ll keep gardening. I’ll keep the lights on.‘
