Circuitry

Last night I had a dream in which I visited all my old co-workers at a printed circuit board factory - a place I quit well over three years ago - just to say hello to some of the people I had worked with for over eight years, night in and night out. Many people unfamiliar with circuit board manufacturing assume that the process of making the darn things is very easy and very clean, and except for the easy and clean part, they'd be right. (Consider: If you're selling a product, you probably don't want your buyer to see the ugliness of making it.) Often working with dangerous chemicals and loud machinery, we would find ourselves literally and metaphorically running on fumes. I remember thinking to myself as I was filling large tanks with 55 gallon drums of hydrochloric acid and mixing it with water at 2 a.m. in the morning, "what the hell am I doing here?" At this point, I suppose it would be redundant to say that the job had a deep impact on me; suffice it to say that as a result of working this job, I decided that I would go to college full-time and explore something I really wanted to do. However, I also developed a deep sense of identity and empathy for people who work blue collar jobs.

In my dream, I passed by the line of wet process machinery I knew pretty well, recognizing and evaluating the changes that had occurred while I was gone. Finding the shift lead, a young woman who could have succeeded at college as much as I have, I talked a minute about the prospect of the factory closing - a prospect that dogged the company the entire time I was there, and for some time afterwards. Soon, the other employees - about five of them - stopped their jobs, came over to lean on the conveyors, and talk. One employee in particular, a man who in real life wigged out because of an unrequited relationship and eventually fired some ill-considered gun shots at police while on vacation, seemed pleased to see me. In the dream, he had gotten his job back and all was forgiven. I remember being happy to see everyone, and vice versa.

Although I'm not entirely sure what to make of this dream, setting nostalgia aside for a minute, I think it might have something to do with my growing worries about making money in the near future. People who know me and have worked at the factory always used to say that I should write a book about the place, but I don't think I ever will; I think I prefer to let the memories continue to simmer in my mind for myself alone.