A Day at the Factory

wpid-20140605_122506.jpgthis is my hiding place while I am on break at work. I never can understand why people would rather sit in a windowless, messy and unkempt break room.

Join Me For:

A Day At The Ol’ Factory

Based on My Humble Existence

Today my menial task at the factory was to sit next to a molding machine while it burped out select parts, select parts were examined by myself and then other details were added to select parts. After being made aware of the proper procedure: molder makes a terrific noise, part rolls down to me, examine part for flaws, add details to part and neatly place in box. Repeat until 15 minute break. Repeat until lunch. Repeat until second 15 minute break. Repeat til quitting time.

Thoroughly ensconced at said molder, the pieces slowly rolling out at me at predictable intervals, examine, put together, box, repeat, I was quite happy to let my mind wander. The molder makes a certain pattern of noises, grumble…HISS…GROWL GROWL GROWL…click, part rolls to me. The doors and windows were open, letting in a terrific amount of sunshine and a not unpleasant view of merry robins dispatching worms in the yard. As one will, when set with a methodical task, my mind began to wander, miles away, contemplating a possible correlation between people who drive oatmeal colored cars and people who insist on telling you all inane details of American Idol, a show I refuse to watch. As I debated this in my head, the molder continued it’s slow complaining and the pieces continued to roll out at an even, steady pace.

My hands, eyes and ears took over for my brain, preforming my task without question. I began to then consider whether a worse fate would be to be forced to eat a tootsie roll or a tootsie pop, when, as these things tend to happen, suddenly my eyes alerted my brain that something was amiss. Either a freak mistake on gravity’s part or witchcraft, I am unsure.

As I was torn back to reality, this all happening in milliseconds, I became aware that a part was being lobbed; not unlike an adult gently throwing a ball to a child, behind me.

My brain made some rather bizarre decisions, that I could possibly turn around, leap from my chair and be able to catch the part. As if the floor were lava and the part were to explode upon impact, my brain set about the sequence of commands.

As if the world’s most ungraceful and drunk ballerina, I sprang from my chair, landing inelegantly on all fours on the floor. Part no where near in hand.

A quick visual survey of the situation, upon landing, I noticed three things. The part was two feet away from me. There was never any possibility of catching while it pretended to be the world’s worst bird. The only ones to bear witness were the molder, the merry robins- no doubt gossiping already, the part in front of me, the parts neatly stacked in the box, myself and God.

I unpeeled myself and the part from the floor, discovered us both unscathed and dusted off. I eyed the molder warily and it continued to grumble and gently roll parts at me, as if nothing had occurred.

xxxbmg

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9 thoughts on “A Day at the Factory

  1. Factory jobs are the worse, right up there with data entry, but they do almost pay the bills. Glad the part wasn’t lobbed at your brainpan! Probably a fluke. Or a ghost. ^_^

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