The project went sideways around noon. By three o’clock I was calling it “design evolution.” By five I accepted it: I’d made an expensive piece of firewood.
So I did what any responsible adult would do. I closed the shop, brushed the sawdust off my shirt, and wandered into a dim little bar where the varnish on the tables was older than my table saw, and the floor sticky as uncured polyurethane.
The place smelled like stale beer and measurements never made twice. I felt right at home. I had a pocketful of quarters. They were meant for the carwash. Instead, I fed them into the jukebox.
The coins tumbled in with the metallic ping of a stray screw hitting the dust collector impeller — the sound of minor regret and preventable consequences. The machine hummed, flickered, and lit up with a playlist only a woodworker could love.
Baby Got Back Saw — Sir-Makes-A-Lot-of-Sawdust : The #1 hit. Banned from three cabinet shops and one church basement. I drop a quarter just out of respect.
Purple Stain — Prince & The Renovation: A sultry slow jam about optimism, poor lighting, and irreversible decisions. I stare into my glass. The dregs are darker than I expected.
Hit Me With Your Best Knot — Pat Benatar & The Splinters: A defiant power ballad about staring down a board with no respect for your layout lines. I raise my glass to the knot. The knot wins.
We Built This City (On Pocket Screws) — Jefferson Handplane: Arena rock for people who say, “No one will ever see it underneath.” I shift uncomfortably on my stool.
Another One Bites the Dust Collector — Queen Anne: Gritty arena anthem about a 2-hp unit that swore it could handle just one more pass. I nod grimly. I, too, have believed in machinery that lied to me.
Sweet Child O’ Pine — Guns N’ Rosewood: A power ballad about cheap lumber, big dreams, and pitch in places you didn’t know pitch could be.
Smells Like Tenon Spirit — Nirvana Enough Clamps: A brooding grunge classic recorded in a basement shop with questionable ventilation. The chorus is just someone muttering, “Close enough,” until it almost sounds convincing.
Suddenly, the jukebox clicks. The last note fades. I check my pocket. One quarter left.
Tomorrow the project will still be junk. The knot will still win. But tonight, in the dim light, with sawdust still in my cuffs and bad luck humming through ancient speakers, I remember something important: Every project bites back. And somewhere out there another jukebox waits for my last quarter.
A.J. Hamler is the former editor of Woodshop News and Woodcraft Magazine. He's currently a freelance woodworking writer/editor, which is another way of stating self-employed. When he's not writing or in the shop, he enjoys science fiction, gourmet cooking and Civil War reenacting, but not at the same time.
