Good Work If You Can Get It

It was Sunday, and I don't usually work Sundays. There were only five of us in this huge newspaper plant, and the boss wasn't there ("he's gone North for awhile. They say that vanity got the best of him but he sure left here in style" --dylan. Sorry, a slip).

So it was strange, and of course I wanted to go exploring with it so empty and quiet like that. We were working on the little "stitcher" assembly line though, putting a magazine named "Rural Missouri" together, which has a different edition for every county in the state. (Quaint. It had a little article about "using your microwave safely", and another about how to deal with pesky neighbors who eavesdrop on the party line.) (That last? I just lied. They didn't have an article about party lines. But notice that when I lie, I so promptly admit it.)

Our supe loves Sundays, because it is the only time she can be sort of friendly and outgoing and be treated well. I always like her but she won't ever get that, I'm afraid. She let us take breaks at will, as long as the line was kept going, and for the first time I checked out the camera feature on my cell phone, see...

With a real camera, this could have been awesome. All these blue papers were wrapped tightly in bundles, so they rolled a bit, and looking over the dozens of palates it was like a child's drawing of ocean waves.

I snapped this picture and sent it to Ma Kettle, the only person I know who has a cell phone with a camera. She promptly sent back a picture of her boyfriend, whom I've never met and have automatically disliked. Typically, my prejudice was confounded. He looks like a nice guy.

How I digress. Or maybe I have no subject.

It should have been an awful long day, since I had to do the same thing for eight hours. But all in all in its all-ness, the day seemed like a miniature. Or am I thinking of this photo? I shouldn't write this late. Dreams are seeping in here.

Anyway. Next time I'm going to bring my digital camera and make a study of all the old factory gears, dials, buttons, ancient warning signs like tiny license plates. And such. Some machines look like they're from the '40s, by the way.

Thanks for visiting. I have a bio of one of the brethren ready to post, after his approval. Hope he doesn't hit me in the mouth instead.

Jackson