October 07, 2011
Originally published September 23, 2003
I never should have blogged about feeling a touch of fall in the air. Today was as hot and muggy as any day in August. I was cursed at work with one MAJOR problem, quickly followed by the Death of 1,000 Tiny Cuts. One a scale of one to ten, this was an 8.7 fucked-up day.
The A-line micronizer baghouses are about six stories off the ground and that is where my MAJOR problem was. I don't remember how many times I climbed those stairs today, with sweat pouring off me and running down the lenses of my safety glasses, but after the last time, I swore that if I had to do it again, I was going hop over the handrail on the roof and do a swan-dive onto the pavement below. My legs are tired from all those trips up and down the stairs.
Of course, days like this one are what keep my 51 year-old backside looking a lot younger than it is. My legs aren't bad, either.
But DAMN if those stairs don't get steeper every year.
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