This is less a story about torture than
it is one about productivity. For a few
months, I worked in factories. First
a toy factory. Next came a cardboard
factory. Other conveyor lines came
along afterwards. I had learned
to find in these repetitions as much
comedy as I could muster. I say
muster. And there was often
exhaustion. The comedy, I’d
suggest, required less effort
as time passed. And soon I’d
manifest it, in the manner of
a comedian, I suppose. It was
a distraction, of course. I would
work bits of physical humor,
build jokes into routines and
mold them ever nearer to
perfection. With no real
audience, I could not relay
to you which of these I got
better at over the years, nor
whether or not I got good at
either. On that, you’d be a much
better judge. But I continue to
put things together at the speed
with which all of the parts come
at me, and package the finished
product up as nicely as I can into
its ready-made box, all the while
doing my stand-up routine, which
has evolved considerably as I’ve
practiced extensively. And I have
learned to do two things at once.
And also, how to forget I’m doing
one task by distracting myself
with the other, whichever one I
happen to find the more tedious
happen to find the more tedious
at any given moment.
