There is one, and only one, part of the job I look forward to every day. It is the only task I derive real enjoyment from. After I finish plugging a stack of wood, I get to replace it with another stack. I then have to mark the new stack so that the grader (who sorts the wood after I plug it) knows which sheets came from my stack. I mark the wood by spray painting two corners.
After tapping my foot for two hours, the chance to step down and spray paint something is a welcome relief. My favorite paint to use is the silver. The worst color is the yellow because you can't even see it on the wood so you might not as well spray paint the wood at all.
It's a good day for me at work when I get to use the silver paint. It's a not so good day when I have to use the yellow paint. In the world of plywood making, there is little to derive enjoyment from.
I decided to briefly tell the grader how much I look forward to my brief spray painting moments. He looked at me with a straight face and said, "Why do you like it so much? Is it because of the fumes?"
I silently shook my head and went back to work. I recounted the tale to my father and he said I just have to get used to that kind of mind set in my particular work place. In the future I think I'll just plug and keep my comments to myself.
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4 comments:
sounds like you work with a real social bunch. what did you do with that number?
I listened to the advice of several people and ignored it. It sounded kind of fishy to me. Besides, my Daddy said any guy who gives you a number without their name on it is a chicken. He asked if I really wanted to talk to a chicken. I said no.
Then again, my Daddy wouldn't want me talking to non-chickens either ... hmmm
Frankly, it sounds more like a possible prank or just pure laziness. Whatever your true feelings toward poultry, I am sure you have lesser feelings towards layabouts.
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