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The Never Ending Grind

The truck rolled forward, inside the desolate garage. Another job to be done, another long and hard day to get through. I walk to the side of it and slide under it on the creeper, the wheels creating a loud grinding sound, like sandpaper against my eardrums as they slide on the cold floor. I looked to the rear end as if it were calling out to me, saying, “I’m the first of many to come.” I heard it in my head like a dead whisper of a memory long forgotten, calling out to be heard and remembered. I slid back out, the same tedious sound was made once again by the wheels. Standing to my feet, I sauntered over to the toolbox, sliding open a drawer. The drawer let out a echoing creek, and then a thud as it opened before me. I reached in grabbing a wrench of adequate size for the job, creating a metal shuffling noise as I removed it from the others. I left the drawer open as I wouldn’t need the wrench very long. I slid back under to the same effect, as the noise assailed my ears. I placed the wrench upon the bolt, turning it with all my force. I kept turning over, and over, and over, until the bolt fell to the ground with a clang. I did this several times leaving a few bolts to hold the rear end in. I once again got out and was tormented by that damned sound from the wheels. 

I walked to the floor crane and rolled it over, and just like everything in this garage it creaked, by god it creaked. The sounds were signs of age, use, carelessness, and all the people who just toss them around like they were useless pieces of garbage. They say the bad work is from the tools, for none of them are true mechanics, a true mechanic never blames his tools. A true mechanic only has himself to blame but I digress, a thought to myself as I roll the crane to the rear end. I lower it and hop atop the back of the monstrous truck, to attach the chain to the rear end. I wrap the chain around once over and attach it to the hook, holding it tightly as to not slack it. I jacked the crane, creating a small clicking and jangling noise as the chain tightens and the crane rises. Once it was tightened I rolled back under, the same irritation as before from the maddening wheels. I placed the wrench upon the bolts and when back to turning, more and more until it once again fell with a clang. I had one bolt left, and as I turned it I felt almost confident that what I did was worth it. The feeling of accomplishment as the last bolt hit the stone floor, was almost laugh worthy. 

It was short lived however as I slid out and went to the rack with the pry bars and hammers lean against the wall. I take one bar, short in length, and a small sledgehammer, and walk back placing it between the rear end and the housing. I raised the hammer and brought it down upon the bar with a loud clank. Finally my job was done, completed and over with, at least for today. I finished up by lifting the rear end on the crane and moving it away, it was heavy, substantial, fully loaded. I moved it away and pulled the creeper out from beneath the truck, the sound not bothering me anymore for my feeling of accomplishment was far greater. I went back to the toolbox and placed the wrench back into the drawer, closing it tightly and swiftly, with barely and sound other than the thunk of the drawer hitting the back of the toolbox. I walked to the sink, and began washing my arms and hands of the dirt that had become embedded to them. I dried with the towels nearby, sitting just above and to the right of the sink. I then left the garage, headed back home, for my day was done… but tomorrow is another day, a day of new work, in the same place.

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