They were having trouble at a certain hay barn, so I paid them a visit this morning. (Hay is a big deal in Eastern Washington. They smash it up to about 1/2 its normal size, load it into containers and send it to Japan. There's a bunch of hungry cows over there and no room to grow hay.) The machine was sort of jammed up so a couple of the guys had to crawl inside and try to chip out the hay. It's a lousy job, and I've decided if one of my kids ever says they don't want to make a decent career for themselves, you know: college, welding school, the Marines, carnival, etc., I'm bringing them to a hay barn and making them work there for a day (the regular work, not my work). Anyway, the guys unclogged the machine, so we fired it up and pushed a little hay into it, then someone said, "hey, where's Juan?" This made me a little nervous because, even though I yelled at everyone before I restarted the machine, and I turned on one motor at a time, and they make a fairly distinctive noise when they start up, I'd been the one pushing the buttons... Needless to say, I was quite relieved when a nice clean hay bale ejected from the press.
This is Andy's experience today. Just so you know that it wasn't me.
