Buell Mfg.

Hello Responsible Citizens of This World!

I am pleased to report that today I joined my fellow brethren in supporting the foundations of my country by going to work! I’m sure I changed the world for the better. You may all feel free to feel safer now that I’m around.

I woke up at 5:47am, which was a preposterous notion, and then I went to the gym with my father, however, I seemed to be the only 12-year old boy there. Explanation:


I seem to have the Beiber hair (and no ears)

When I got to the desk, I asked for a trial pass for the gym.

“Woah-oh-oh. Hold on a sec. Who are you?” said the old bearded man at the table that was haphazardly arranged at the exact point of entrance. I believe I was shocked into brief silence by the directness of the question.

But I should probably take some time to describe this “fitness center”.

Once upon a time an older man and a younger, muscly man decided to open up a gym together! It was a really nice idea and so they ordered like 4 million machines and bought a big, square building. All the machines got delivered to the building, but the older man and the buff man weren’t there, so to while the hours away, the drivers decided to arrange the machines in rows, for fun! By the time the owners got there and saw the rows, everything was so nicely arranged that the owners just said, “Eh, that’ll do. We’ll just pull… well, we’ll get  a table, yeah? And put that here? Yup, sounds good! Let’s get a pizza. We can open this place tomorrow.”

So because the “gym” is pretty casual and very unassuming, it attracts nice, normal people. The people are shy, but very friendly if they engage in conversation. That’s nice. I like that.

Anyway, after I was abruptly asked to state my identity, I automatically just gave my name: Hattie. Apparently that wasn’t helpful enough, for my dad had to explain: “This is my daughter.”

“How old are you?”

Why does he need to know my age? And I knew as I told him that he was going to give me a funny look. “21.”

He laughed. He actually laughed at me. I had to get my driver’s license for him.

Ok, then I made it and I pretended to lift more than 7 lbs on any given machine and I probably overdid myself because now I can’t pick things up off the ground or go upstairs.

Then I went to work. And, not to nix the climax or anything, but I operated one machine for 8 hours! 8 HOURS, my brethren, eight…. hours….open the machine, place the part inside, secure part, close door, press green button, wait 30 seconds, open machine, remove part, repeat.

…And there really isn’t any possible way to make it creative or interesting. I’m sorry. This is where you realize that not only have you been gypped, you’ve just lost about 2-8 minutes (depending on your reading speed) of your life where you could have been watching cat videos or this short gem: http://www.wimp.com/makelaugh/

I got the job done, though. And although I forgot to punch in, I did remember to punch out, and I think I will be getting paid. So yippee-kai-yay!



It was early this morning, a fresh and muggy 8 o’clock, when I realized that I have no inspiration.

It was about noon, as I leaned upon an impossibly tall counter, staring at a deluge of rainwater, when I realized I had all the inspiration and material I could possibly desire.

I am now a member of a temp agency.

Although I was tempted to withhold that information in order to reveal it with more surprise and fulfillment later on, the sheer whopping-ness of the fact is taking such a long time to sink in, that it’s really all I can think about. Like when you’ve stuffed a cherry tomato into your mouth that securely fills up the entire orifice, and there’s a delicate moment when you’re not quite sure if you will manage to either crush the tomato… or even if you’ll be able to get it back out of your mouth.

I haven’t been able to find a job this summer. But I was going to be okay with that. I was selflessly preparing myself for a season of running through sprinklers, blowing on dandelion fuzzies, and fiddling around with random instruments. Somehow I would survive. But for some reason, Little Sister’s frustratingly cheerful hopes ruined all of this for me.

Excited about “becoming a true member of society”, she dragged me to A Special Place (I’m not telling you where, because I don’t want to). The building itself was about as excited as I was about me applying there. Drab and squat, it sat, filled with vomit-inducing fluorescent lights and rowdy children whose mothers didn’t have the energy to deal with them for the day. Sister turned in her already-completed-with-perfect-handwriting form. I almost cut a lady in line and asked for an application, filling it out in record time with practiced indifference.

I have an interview next week.

Not content to lay about, drink kombucha all day, and avoid the last scraps of unpacking, Little Sister once again rallied herself. I have obviously had little effect on her personal development. Or maybe more than I realize.

“Come on, let’s go to the temp agency!”

I glowered at her from the bowels of my sweaty pajamas.

“It will be good for you!” She tried again.

“No, it won’t.” I was beyond confident.

“Dad says.”

I slowly slid off the chair to the floor, knowing my  fate was already decided.

“Just go,” Mother said in that encouraging-but-yet-not-an-arguable tone of voice. “Then you can come back and finish sweeping the kitchen.” Boy does she know how to inspire wonder and excitement in my little heart.

[a tiff and rant about how suburbians have to drive everywhere]

I ran through the fattest rain drops to a beyond depressing building with a sign out front, enough letters missing to make the messages unintelligible to me. We paused in the doorway, confused as to why the door was open with no one inside.

A head peeked up from behind the counter. Resisting the urge to stare or laugh out loud at the ridiculous idea that the entire agency was run by small and nervous hobbits, we tentatively approached the desk. We walked into the large, empty room, dominated by that desk that came almost to my chin. The desk was falling apart, and later I realized that it was from the teeth of many frustrated dyslexics, confounded by the masses of quizzes and forms to complete.

I have never written my name, the date, or my SSN that many times, for all my life combined. I was amused to note that my signature degraded as I went on out of sheer fatigue, and then it rallied admirably towards the end, probably because I had built up any and all muscles and callouses possible. After answering seventy-three questions about how often I delve into the world of recreational drugs and how often I think that annoying people deserve to be punched, I handed in my stack of governmental papers.

“We’ve had a lot of requests for demolition sites, so you can come at 5:30 and wait with all the guys, if you want.”

There was a long pause.

“Wait. I’m sorry. I’m very tired so the words aren’t making as much sense as they should be. Um… what?”

(yes, I actually did say those words, folks.)

As I stood there, my head resting on my hands on the ridiculously high counter while the hobbit lady processed my sister’s papers, I took a moment to really absorb my surroundings. Everything was stripped white. Not a nice “oh-let’s-paint-this-a-classy” white, but a “GAH-TEAR-EVERYTHING-OFF-OF-EVERYTHING-MAKE-IT-ALL-HIDEOUS-AND-DESPAAAAIR” type of white. Awful 70s posters spattered the walls, attempting to motivate exhausted employees. A wire rack was filled with “Motivational Prizes” of pringles and deodorant. The room was so drab and so barely holding together, I felt my soul dying within me.

The rain outside commiserated with my inner designer as it slowly poked its eyeballs out and its mind melted. I had never spent so much time in such a dismal and lonely room. It was at that moment that I realized that I was most definitely turning over a new leaf; that I was moving out into very empty and very uncharted territories. Very.

Hattie now works at a temp agency.

The options seem endless.


a definite possible future for me


Two Things!:

1. You don’t need to type in your actual email address to comment. Bogey ones are fine. But you DO need your real email address to subscribe. Because then my updates would be sent into the large abyss of nothingness.

2. So, sometimes I won’t have anything wonderful or witty to write. Sometimes my brain will behave like a manatee drowning in an oil spill, and you will all think I’m dead because I won’t have posted anything.

Well, that is what would have happened. But luckily I am extremely intelligent and have foreseen this disaster.

In order to prevent that potentially frightening scenario, I have decided to feed you all some yummy brain fodder.

It will have nothing to do with my travels, it will have nothing to do my life. It will actually have nothing to do with me at all. (Which is a nice change, don’t you think? I mean, this entire blog is all about me me me and what I’m I’m I’m doing… ew.)

You can thank me all later, once I’ve successfully staved off boredom for you whilst maintaining your interest in my blog. Thank you for your time.


All over the land of Ancient Egypt, a misty darkness hung. While the people slumbered, the stars came out and danced. Among the sparkling stars were small, colored circles, slowly moving about. As they continued their movement in a progressive pattern, nine sets of eyes watched unblinkingly. After the display, six crocodiles, one hippopotamus, and one camel closed their eyes sleepily. The onyx-black cat remained alert, feeling the world change around him.

(One day I hope to have illustrations. In fact! If any one of you feels compelled to draw or link to an appropriate photo regarding each segment, you get a prize! My love and affection!)