socks like me

The owner pulled up in a Jaguar and came into the building. From where I was working, I could hear him speaking to one of the supervisors. Shortly, he came into our room, with a smile:

"Thought I'd come in and meet the summer hires."
He faced me. "So what are your plans after the summer?"
"I'm going to University."
"Oh, congratulations. Where will you be studying?"
"At Princeton."
A pause. "What are you doing here?"
"I needed a job, and I couldn't get one anywhere else."

On a quiet part of Power Dam Road, in Cornwall, there used to be a sock factory run by Richelieu Hosiery. I had a job working there the summer before I started college. Later, I would convince myself of a narrative that said I had taken the job in order to 'gain perspective' on things, but the truth is just what I told the owner: I took the job because I needed money and it was the best job I could find that summer in Cornwall. I'd been rejected by, among others, the City of Cornwall, a call center called Startek, McDonald's and KFC. This last one particularly stung, as I had been resubmitting my resume almost every two weeks. I'd heard rumors that the employees working the night shift got free chicken at closing time, and I wanted in. I told the local managers about how much I loved KFC, and about how I'd once even written to their head office, but to no avail. Maybe it was a problem with my cover letters, but I spent that summer working with socks.

I performed a variety of different functions relevant to the sock industry. Labeling socks. Sorting socks. Packaging socks. Counting socks. Moving socks from one package to a different package. I came to learn that any number of different sock 'brands' (Nautica, Polo, KMart, Osh Kosh B'Gosh) were exactly the same socks!

The task that I remember most vividly is stretching socks. Most people don't know this, but socks are very small when they are first sewn. They resemble baby socks. How do they reach their eventual adult size? Somebody has to stand in front of a large machine that with a conveyor belt carrying many feet-shaped metal casts. To his right is a board full of unstretched socks. As the belt moves, he has to take the unstretched socks and place them on the hot metal casts, taking care to line up the heel and toes. When the stretched sock comes back around, he has to remove it and place it on a second board for the stretched socks. I spent hours doing this, often burning my hands when I would accidentally touch one of metal casts. Sometimes, I'd put a sock on backwards, and share a conspiratorial laugh with the person working the machine next to me. Stretching socks is, to be frank, one of the most boring things I've ever done.

Motivation aside, working in the sock factory really did help my sense of perspective. It continues to remind me of just how fortunate I am to be in a situation where I can pursue almost any profession that interests me. It elucidates the mental resilience that people who work these jobs have. The thought of spending my days carrying out boring, menial tasks with no end in sight is a frightening one, but thanks to my summer at the sock factory, I can at least begin to imagine it.