Consider yourself warned.....this is dirty.
Today was an odd one as far as multitasking goes. One of the great pleasures I have at work is the free mental space. I don't have to socialize or entertain folks. All I do is roast the beans, sort the beans, blend the beans and bag the beans. Well, it's not all beans. I'm also a mechanic. But for the most part, I'm thoughtful.
This leaves me in a state of blissful contemplation, until machine maintenance muddles and befuddles my mental process.
I'm currently rewriting my screenplay "Kinky Lee," about a respectable soccer mom turned closet erotica writer living in the bible belt who gets found out by her neighbors and chaos ensues. There are about four PG-13 sexual fantasies intertwined throughout the story, and all four of them need work.
Yes, I was writing erotica at work.
Whilst heaving giant bags of green beans I was contemplating the value of words like "thrusting" and "heaving" and "undulating." I am proud to say I kept my composure with all of these sultry words throbbing in and out of my brain. I'd write little notes to myself with dirty word couplings--kama wordra. Words that fit together uncomfortably (like in the back of a Volkswagen) managed to wrap their meanings around each other and celebrate blissful crescendos within the pages of my swollen moleskin notebook.
And then the alarm went off on the roaster.
It's a typical alarm that cracks off just to let you know that everything is going all right (one o'clock and all's well!). I have a gawddamned heart attack every time.
Maintenance time. With my brain full of erotica and flesh and thrusts and all that good stuff, I had to grease the machine.
This is kind of how it went:
The zerk, the grease fitting was dry. The machine's grease nipples begged for saturation. Alarms wailed into the midday din of productivity. The machine ground and gritted its teeth in desperation. It needed lubrication. I grabbed the grease gun with a firm confidence. The machine shuddered with antici.......pation. The mouth of the gun fumbled then bit tightly around the stiff zerk. With one hand I held the metallic lips to the fitting and with the other I pulled back on the trigger. Luscious food-grade grease sank deep within the fitting and slicked the bearings and the shaft, leaving the excess contents to gather around the mouth. Dislodging the gun, the machine began to purr. I wiped the grateful fitting and walked away confidently, knowing the machine would never be the same.
I bet you had never thought a mechanics work could be so.....interesting.
Girls don't typically want to become machinists. Hell, I didn't. When most people think girls and machinery, they often recall this gem of a flick:
I gotta be honest: Sometimes I feel a little like Alex--well, except for the dancing and the unitards and the Porsche and the hot-hunk-of-loving-manimal parts. And maybe the sexy shower thing. Yes, definitely not the shower thing. But the whole "she's a woman in a man's world" voice-over part? That's me.
So that's what I do all day. I write erotica to machines. Then I come home and I write erotica like this:
He dismantled her shirt with the precision of a 9/16 wrench. Then, after a thurough brushing, he sucked the excess particulates off of her skin like a Craftsman 20-gal wet/dry vac. All junctions and bearings required lubrication, which he applied directly. Once all work spaces had been appropriately prepared, he inserted......
.....and so forth.
Perhaps the worlds are colliding and making an illegitimate lovechild of a profession. Maybe I should get out of both the writing and the machinist biz and start writing erotic maintenance manuals for various pieces of machinery.
Or perhaps, maybe I should cut the day dreaming and the blissful contemplation out of my work day.
The bean pic is from volcanica coffee online. The Flashdance is from youtube. The Metropolis is from the blessed Fritz Lang by way of the objectified cogs of humanity as represented by google. Fight the power, friends.
"Kinky Lee" and "Outre" screenplays are currently registered and copywritten through the Writers Guild of America.