I work alone.
Not always, of course, but generally. This was not always the case.
I’ve worked in about every kind of work setting. Mill building. Clean room. School. Office. Concrete block building. Ditch. Shed. Barroom. Boat. Hospital. Home. Above ground. Below. Hot. Cold. Dry. Damp. Boring. Terrifying.
The vagary that makes any setting go is the other people. And now there aren’t any.
I’ve been responsible for hundreds of employees at one time, and just a few at others. Hundreds of employees is much easier. When you only have two, and one is named “Rob,” and you find out that “rob” is a verb, not a noun, you’ve got a fifty percent failure rate. I had a guy constantly found sleeping at his workstation “working” for me once. He was just one in a hundred. No big deal.
But to work alone is to be your own annoyance. You’re the laziest, stupidest person present. There is always a person to encourage sloth — you; but there is never anyone to shame you into holding up your end. You’ve got both ends. And the end in the middle.
Sometimes, the light is good. The tools are sharp. The wood is flat. The mosquitoes are on vacation. Your shoes fit. There are no splinters. Whatever you look for is on the shelf. The dimensions add up. Vivaldi comes on the radio. The money comes. The floor is swept. Nothing is late. The phone does not ring unwonted. The blade does not wander.
And when all that happens…
How the hell would I know? I’d settle for two of those things at the same time. I’m all alone.