The Genesis of the Exodus, by the Numbers

Had a truly surreal conversation last night with a dear work friend of mine. It went something like this:

"Remember when we used to do field work together?"
"Yeah."
*sigh* 
*lament*

Alright, so you might not feel that's very surreal, but keep in mind we were both sparkly clean, good-smelling, elaborately coiffed, made-up, dressed up, and drunk as skunks on free corporate booze at the time - the very antithesis of the state of "field work". We dusted off our trove of classic field moments, of the variety that only people who had cemented their bonds of friendship in a field truck could possibly feel nostalgic for, and reminisced: that day that was such an embarrassing boondoggle that we swore we would never speak of again; that time we almost died; that other time we almost died; that time we broke some shit; that other time we broke some more shit; that time Jenna was killing Jeff in a wetland.

Maybe it was just the bottomless glass of wine talking, but man, those were the days!

The gods of the Cushy Office Job were clearly angered by this sacrilege, and so are sending me out tomorrow for a little karmic flogging: winter field work. *shudder* Be careful what you wish for, I guess. I've also been commanded to chisel the Ten Laws of Field Work on stone tablets so the people may never again forget why they are grateful for their Cushy Office Jobs.

(But, uh, my chisel broke so I'll just type it up quick and head to bed. Early day tomorrow and all.)

I  Thy destination shall lie always on the crack of thy map.
II  Thine most desperately needed photo shall always be the one that goes corrupt.
III  Thou shalt not open thy truck windows whilst thou art trying to extricate thyself from a giant mud bog.
IV  Thou art never actually alone.
V  Thy batteries shall frequently be dead.
VI  Thine jar of almond butter shall detonate on the back of thine quad and result in great consternation and untidiness. Also, thy fire extinguisher.
VII  Thou shalt pee on the sleeve of thy Nomex.
VIII  If thou art smote in the face with a branch, thou art following too close.
VIIII  If thou art smote in the face with a branch, the person ahead of you is a jerk.
X  Never sacrifice thy sock.