|Forum topic by JAAune||posted 04-10-2015 02:22 PM||1263 views||0 times favorited||7 replies|
04-10-2015 02:22 PM
I rarely put anything from my company blog on the internet but there’s one thing I wanted to share. It’s a silly little short story I typed out last night as a preface to the newest blog entry. Since other people that read it (including non-woodworkers) enjoyed it, I decided to put it here for others.
That’s the link for those who want the whole article but the story itself is contained in the below excerpt. Please forgive the lack of formatting. Text doesn’t convert well into blogs or forums.
————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————- Man Vs Machine
A short story in the style of O’Henry
It was a dark and stormy night. Carl huddled under his hefty roubo bench anxiously looking across the dim shop. A heavy, oak door shuddered from repeated blows. The sound of the impacts intermingled with crashing thunder. He knew his time was short but what could he – a mere man – do against such an invasion?
With the sickening sound of splinters, the wood cracked apart and the sorry wreck of a door skidded across the floor. The once perfect mortise and tenon joinery lay exposed and Carl cast it a rueful glance. He still recalled the pleasant mornings spent shaving the tenons with razor-sharp planes and sliding them home into their receiving pockets. Another crash forced his mind back to the present. This was no time for reminiscing. Those days would never come again. It was time to face the present and as he looked up, the present was ominous indeed.
A massive machine of iron and steel slid through the door frame. He could spot another coming up behind it and another and… Just how many are there, he wondered silently?
Six machines in all. Every one of them a gleaming 4,000 pound beast with menacing gantries that swept back and forth with formidable speed. Dozens of servos hummed and whirred in unison as the terrible array settled into formation around him. Yes, this was the end.
All at once, the monsters fired up their 20HP spindles. The roar of a dozen vacuum pumps filled his ears. With astonishing swiftness, the gantries whipped around, the spindles zipped to and fro and the noise rose to a high-pitched scream as carbide cutters tore through sheets of plywood and mdf. Almost as quick as the eye blinks, perfectly-formed tables and chairs were ejected left and right. Within minutes, the inventory began stacking to the roof and Carl, with a sigh, glanced at the half-finished dining table near his workbench. He’d been lavishing care upon it for the past week.
Carl stood up and tipped his table over in one motion. Twenty paces brought him outside his building. He glanced back into the shop before his attention was caught by a faded sign hanging beside the shattered door frame. Before turning away, he reached up and flipped the sign over.
The sign read, “closed”.
- The End*