Object Writing, Prose & Poetry Forum

September 20, 2019, 06:35:23 PM
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This week's words;

Sunday - Instructions

Monday- Motorcycle

Tuesday- Wildflower

Wednesday- Asparagus

Thursday- Stopwatch

Friday - Confetti


Word of the Day
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Author Topic: Fibreglass  (Read 245 times)
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« on: September 15, 2018, 08:30:41 PM »

   At the end of the drive, Id be going down a steep hill with the AC finally kicking in and the Sun just starting to brighten the morning sky. I would latch on to the esteemed voices on the radio like they were my own dying breath. I was steeped in hyperbolic thoughts in those days. My chest was a birdcage, my brain was an ill-balanced infant. I tried taking deep breaths, but I knew time was beyond my control; I would be pulling up in the parking lot in no time.
   And when I arrived, there would be a lot of tired looking men slamming truck doors and shooting the shit. There was surely the equivalent of a swimming pools worth of coffee floating around in Styrofoam cups. There was a sugary smell in the air from donuts being downed quickly, powdered sugar left in stubbly upper lips, and of course, the smell of the cookie factory itself. I steeled myself forward past the folks who were well over twice my age. Greeted by the boss heartily who was excited for another honest day of hard work. He was here from Michigan, spending a couple months this Summer a few hundred miles away from his family. His teeth were jagged and featured a couple of gorging gaps. He was not the picture of success that youd see on TV or in films. Or in my college classrooms. But I guess he was doing alright.
   Inside the front door were conveyor belts with the last batch of cookies being sent to their packaging from the night shift. I was there to put the pink fiberglass insulation into the brand new oven, which ran the length of a football field. First thing to do, put on your white protective robe and blue rubber gloves and facemask. Grab a pole, climb up, begin pushing.
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