I was desperate for a gig,
any gig.
It's no fun being 19 and broke
at least that's how I remember it.
Lucky me, they always needed bodies on the factory floor.
Day 1: I recall the great space full of machines
Big weird injection-mold ovens, plasticy air.
Creating insulation for giant underground cables.
They assign me to a guy.
He does his thing for a while,
demonstrating the use of hook and knife.
The insulation isn't born perfect, you see.
You have to pull it from the mold
and tenderly trim the excess plastic
before it goes to whereverthefuck.
It looks so easy, and I'm so bored.
I ask the guy if I can try it out myself.
He pauses a moment, then obliges.
Awkwardly, I yank the rubber from the mold
And, cradling it in my left hand,
begin to trim the excess bits.
I'm telling you--I was being careful.
Even when I was a restless kid,
I was still the cautious type.
I don't know how it happens
But my right hand skips a groove
somewhere
and the work knife
>>>plunges>>>
through the protective kevlar glove
(thanks for nothing)
into my left palm
(no tendons are cut)
We got the bleeding under control quick,
but my laughter--that took some effort.
