Report to the Central Commissariat of the Communist Party Regarding the State of the Proletariat Employed by the Woodworking Industry in Doylestown, Pennsylvania: They're Hot!!!

Whew!

What a day! What a great day to turn 39.

I started out my second day at work today sanding. Then, just after the morning break, I was moved to the finishing department. I was a little bit leary of this. A few times before, painting has triggered an outbreak of my vasculitis. I worried that the fumes in the finishing department would do the same.

Nightingale was my mentor and guide to all things Finishing. He showed me the basics, and set me to work on some simple cabinet doors. By the end of the day, I was doing the really complicated cabinets and wall units. Like a pro. Nightingale was pretty impressed. He couldn't believe that I had never done this before.

And that's true and not true. My grandfather (today would be his birthday, too, as we were born on the same day, sixty years apart) was a painter. I've occasionally joked that paint flows through these veins. At a very young age, I was instructed in how to cut in at the corners, use a roller, and paint a window frame without tape or the need to remove paint from the glass with a razorblade afterwards.

Put applying stain was a new application of these skills. Wipe on, smoothly and evenly, and then wipe off. The stain we were working with was pretty forgiving, but nonetheless, I did a pretty good job. At one point, the Production Manager was back in the finishing area. I heard him comment to Nightingale, "Looks like we've got a pretty good finisher."

Replied Nightingale, "A very good finisher."

And another interesting thing happened. Mine and Nightingales paths have crossed. We went to the same high school, although he was graduated two years ahead of me. I put this together first.

Y'see, I remember Nightingale. I think it was on the last day of class for seniors during my sophomore year. Nightingale was one of the guys that I would look for in the hallways and think of while I compulsively masturbated when I got home. And there he was, a damn hot high school senior, jubilant at having been sprung form the prison that was Central Bucks High School East. Better believe that Nightingale fueled many a masturbatory fantasy.

So Nightingale has one of those cell phones that take pictures. And today, he showed me pictures he had stored on his phone. Of his grandson. Who's four months old.

Criminy!

Nightingale has been great about showing me the ropes. I'd like to offer some gesture to thank him. Like buying him a bottle of scotch. Or maybe getting a gift for his grandson. Or letting him bend me over one of those cabinets we're working on, spit lube his dick, and plow me so hard I forget my name. (Given the Dutch thing, that wouldn't be too hard.)

And another thing. Tonight in welding, in a brief two hours, I completed my project. The firewood rack is done. I set it up in the dining room to surprise my father. I think he was pretty impressed.

This is so cool! I'm sort of becoming a blue collar renaisance man: he does cabinetry! he does welding! What's next? Perhaps I'll learn how to drive the Big Rigs!

Life is good.

Anyway, I had insomnia last night, so I'm dead tired. Five thirty in the morning is coming up quick, so I'm off to bed.

'Night.

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