Those who worked with Allister on the assembly line recalled fondly the day Allister quit. He had been mulling over the idea for some time. The witnesses of his departure knew little of Allister beyond that his station was first on the conveyor belt. He had kept to himself. Of course, he was cordial. He nodded. He smiled. He excused himself after burping. But beyond 'excuse mes', Allister was not one for conversation at work. This may be because he was never fond of his work. To say he found his job distracting would be somewhat an understatement.
Whilst the mechanical clanking of metal ticked and tocked, he often found himself taking tiny trips inside his head. He would hop on a synapse and float through time zones and eras and brain matter. He would sit with a clan of hairy cave men whom he assumed to be of Cromley blood, but whom he never asked, because their grunts were more confusing than claritive. And here, Allister sat. In a cave in his cranium, surrounded by hairy prehistoric men and women he sat. With the grunting, slapping, painting on cave walls, experimenting with fire, hunting for dinosaurs, and testing the taste of roots for the first time in human history. It was not the inane qualities (ie: the senseless grunting and slapping) that Allister loved. It was the feeling that the world could go on on its own. That it did not need the senseless drilling of tiny holes in tiny parts of mechanical gadgets.
Do not, of course, mistake this for the idea that Allister detested mechanical gadgets. For, he loved a good toaster as much as the next man (and depending on the make and character of the next man, Allister may have loved a good toaster even more than the next man). He just longed for balance. Longed for control. Longed for a lack of schedule. Longed for breathe.
He tired of counting his life down by way of the clock. He tired of the drilling of pins. He longed to explore, to see more, to know what happened after the tiny gadgets left him, longed to see where they went, what they became, what the next work station did. These were all mysteries to him, blocked by walls, the narrow spectrum of his protective goggles, and passages that only the conveyor belt traveled. And this is why, on his final day, Allister said nothing. He made no erratic motion. He simply climbed on the conveyor belt and lay down.
Whilst the mechanical clanking of metal ticked and tocked, he often found himself taking tiny trips inside his head. He would hop on a synapse and float through time zones and eras and brain matter. He would sit with a clan of hairy cave men whom he assumed to be of Cromley blood, but whom he never asked, because their grunts were more confusing than claritive. And here, Allister sat. In a cave in his cranium, surrounded by hairy prehistoric men and women he sat. With the grunting, slapping, painting on cave walls, experimenting with fire, hunting for dinosaurs, and testing the taste of roots for the first time in human history. It was not the inane qualities (ie: the senseless grunting and slapping) that Allister loved. It was the feeling that the world could go on on its own. That it did not need the senseless drilling of tiny holes in tiny parts of mechanical gadgets.
Do not, of course, mistake this for the idea that Allister detested mechanical gadgets. For, he loved a good toaster as much as the next man (and depending on the make and character of the next man, Allister may have loved a good toaster even more than the next man). He just longed for balance. Longed for control. Longed for a lack of schedule. Longed for breathe.
He tired of counting his life down by way of the clock. He tired of the drilling of pins. He longed to explore, to see more, to know what happened after the tiny gadgets left him, longed to see where they went, what they became, what the next work station did. These were all mysteries to him, blocked by walls, the narrow spectrum of his protective goggles, and passages that only the conveyor belt traveled. And this is why, on his final day, Allister said nothing. He made no erratic motion. He simply climbed on the conveyor belt and lay down.
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