D Battery Checker

I was a battery checker one summer. I think it was 1971. The agency
sent us to a warehouse full of battery-operated toy tractors. Maybe
they were tanks. I forget exactly. Christmas stuff. Someone had
complained about dead batteries in a previous shipment. Our job was to
check for signs of life and replace the dead batteries.

There was more to this job than met the eye. It was frought with
unsuspected dangers. For example, dust. Choking dust. And cuts: paper
cuts, wire rips, all manner of puncture wounds from staples,
screwdrivers. And the heat, the humidity....worst of all, the boredom.
Hour after hour of mindless boredom. No one talked. There was nothing
to say. We were being watched. Better to remain silent.

It was hell there for a while, but after two days, I was in the zone.
Put your mind in neutral...that's the trick. Self-hypnosis. Veg out.
Open the big box. Select a small box. Open the lid, careful not to rip
the cellophane window! Poke the start button. Careful, don't get your
thumb caught! Repack. Start over. Think about returning to college in
September. Think about not thinking. Don't think. Veg out. It wasn't
easy, but I got through it. I was almost sad to leave. They paid me and
I went home.

And y'know what? The whole thing was a false alarm. All the batteries
were alive. Every last one of them. What a waste!

Another beer? Sure. Why not?

Still, I have to admit, it was better than being in Viet Nam, that's
for sure. Yeah. It was definitely better than being in Viet Nam.