By midmorning, I’d wheeled my first yay-high pallet of bent plates to Mr. Nordahl. Closer up, I remember wondering, “What’s with this guy?” — he who outfitted himself in immaculately creased navy blue work pants, a matching work shirt, its sleeves rolled neatly and symmetrically just above the elbow and thick, leathery work gloves. All that to do what? “Deburr”?
Then, while working on my second pallet, Mr. Nordahl approached me with Fred, who was carrying several of my finished plates.
I knew I’d knocked it out of the park. For a first-timer to fill a pallet by morning break had to impress them, or would have had I not bent every plate — hundreds of them — backward.
Fred said, “Eight thousand dollars down the toilet. Follow me.”
Mr. Kol inspected the deformed pieces then told me to wait in the hallway.
